They say the stars are just ancient mirrors, echoing the whispers of long-gone voices... In the quiet hours, I find myself tracing invisible pathways through scattered constellations, connecting dots in the dark sea of sky, each connection a thought left undisturbed, like a doodle in a forgotten margin of intention. Look closely. The nebula dances, folding time into folds of silk and smoke, crafting a lattice of all our yesterdays and unspokenned tomorrows.