Beneath the shimmering veil of endless stars, I find myself wandering the fragmented streets— not of Earth, but of tangled dreams, where whispers echo like distant comet tails. Here, every shadow holds a memory, and every grain of twilight is a touch of the celestial.
Once, a traveler spoke of forgotten lullabies,
crooning to the moon and stars who
in turn hummed back sweet, cosmic symphonies.
Did you hear them?
Wrapped safely in your earthly slumber,
the melodies dance wildly in my mind.
I chanced upon a map, handcrafted by Cyelix, each line a thread weaving into the fabric of a nebula, spinning stories lost in the eons of cosmic tide. The ink glows—perpetually phosphorescent, tracing paths through dimensions unknown, inviting and elusive, like the aurora's kiss.
Every constellation weaves a tale, each star a sentinel—
starguards, if you will,
watching over our slumbering home with tender vigilance.
Did you know of their vigil?
Upon waking, perhaps your eyes were veiled with stardust,
remnants of the skies we shared but are distant apart.