The workshop of the stars clinks in silence, forging nebulae and whispers.
In the galaxy's shadow, he traces the orbit of a forgotten dream.
Stars fall apart, then together, from his hands, as if seeking a home.
He speaks to the void, and the void speaks back, softly.
Fragments of light dance, glitching in the rhythm of the cosmos.
Once, he crafted a sun from a sigh, and it burned with the hue of nostalgia.
His tools are made of stardust and stories untold, rusted by time's embrace.
Beyond the horizon, a comet remembers the face of its maker.