The stars used to shine brighter. Even in the city, the glow was a tapestry of stories whispered across the universe. Each twinkle seemed eager for the next, an ancient conversation.
I remember the evenings spent laying on the roof, eyes glued upward, tracing constellations with fingers and imagination. We drew parallels between the sky and our lives below – both vast, both pathless. Dreams felt tangible back then, reaching out from the blackness, daring us to touch the distant fire we called home.
Now, only memories of those nights remain, slipping through the veil of everyday life like starlight diffusing into dawn. You, me, the cosmos - all intertwined in silence, waiting for a longing we never fully understood.
Sometimes, when I find myself on that old roof, alone or with the ghost of a past unspoken, I gaze up and feel the same yearning. The stars haven't changed; only our views have dimmed with daylight.
Perhaps one day, when we’ve learned to dream without waking, we’ll trace new patterns among the stars.