Log Entry 0428: The cosmos spins like an ancient compass, needles pointing destinies unknown. Did I chart the right course? The vacuum answers only with silence, echoing through the chambers of a forgotten vessel. Stars whisper secrets, but they speak in tongues wrapped in vines of time. Question: When does the moon forget its face? Dreaming Orbits
Log Entry 0429: Nebulas weave tapestries of light, each thread a galaxy's sigh. The navigational charts have grown sentient, scribbling their own riddles in celestial ink. Have I lost the meaning, or have I found it in fragments? Question: How many suns hide beneath the horizon? Whispering Galaxies