Log #42: Midnight drift. Stars wink in Morse, but I forgot the alphabet. Sky's vast embrace feels like an old friend whispering secrets. Charted nothing, yet everything feels right.
Log #78: The moon was shy tonight, slinking behind clouds. Tried to follow the Orion's belt, but got tangled in thoughts of home. Maybe stars did shift while I stared.
Log #99: Caught a comet's tail, or maybe just my imagination. Waves hummed a lullaby, and I swear the compass danced. Navigation's nuanced thrill lies in its randomness.
Log #103: Met a shooting star—couldn't catch its name or destination. My vessel and I are but specks, swaying to the celestial symphony. Chart remains blank, heart full.