Day 134, 0499 UTC:
The stars aligned this evening resembling a slumbering dolphin, a sight I rarely observe. Winds carried whispers unnamed and untold. Bowed to horizon, securing our plot, the night grew wise under ink-dipped skies.
Day 135, 0501 UTC:
Waves like silvered glass, reflecting a shard of moonlight. Compass shattered, we sailed beyond the core, trailing stardust. Sometimes you hear unheard cries of mariners lost or born anew.
Day 137, 0515 UTC:
Port chart uncertain, but stars seemed relatives unseen until now. Drift spoke like ancient songs, confirmed by unspoken truth. Tomorrow perhaps we land, or forever wander.
Day 138, 0522 UTC:
All constellations formed, like handwritten script of eternity. Navigation here, guided by whispers alone. No earthly map could ensnare such freedom-filled beats.