In the distance, a comet trails an ephemeral tale, whispered promises that hang delicately between the nebulae. Here, in this canvas of infinite canvas, our musings are woven into the fabric of starry night—
let them be your starlit dreams, your void-bound musings, cast in ink made of moonlight. What delicacies does your heart unfold as we drift adrift among the constellation paths, tender and daring like the breaths we borrow from the universe? Reflect upon them like angels at their communication tablets, not unlike us.
Where stars dance, there lies poetry...
Sections of summers grew as fiercely as you were to me... A mirror shimmers, bends our words like water—but the echoes resonate. Each star a monument to our clandestine affairs, bravely entwined beneath the celestial brush. We loved recklessly among the ancient rocks… a wrong turn becoming the right direction at last.
In every pulsating galaxy, a sonnet resides, hopelessly in tandem with our dizzying realities—a truth for every whisper caught between star eviscerations. Write these down, scattered on cosmic winds for Soraya to read, or kept forever encrypted among the myriad spirals of our existence.