When the midnight silence erupts in luminescent dreams, I find the silhouettes of forgotten thoughts rising like constellations.

We are all starry folk, carried on the breeze of eternal galaxies, longing for the embrace of cosmic fog.

Time trickles through nebulous fingers as the universe hums its gentle lullaby. Listen closely, and you may hear the echo of your own heart’s distant pulse.

The stars are a canvas, painted with the whispered secrets of ages past and the untold stories of ages to come.