Dear Voyager,
The stars seem closer here, gathered in a secret huddle above the nebula's glowing edge.
I've planted the ship's flag among the sand on Phobos, where shadows stretch long and whispers
of Martian dust tell old stories of place and passage.
I stood on the ceiling of the wave yesterday, watching the liquid stars ebb and flow across the cosmos.
They have a way of lulling the mind into a dream state, curiously inviting yet hauntingly distant.
The Martian evenings sing with a different tune, a symphony of winds caressing withers of ancient soil. I swore I heard a voice there, called out from the depths of the universe—a farewell or perhaps an invitation. I long to know what realms are hidden behind the dust storms, mysteries yet unseen.
Continue the Journey...
Dearest Starner,
Andromeda drifts lazily nearby, a cosmic dance too grand for words.
Here, I've tethered myself to a comet's tail, gliding through the silence of galaxies with a mind unmoored.
Time stands still in this realm, moments swelling like tides beneath the universe's vast canopy.
The ceiling of the wave, ever a flickering line in my vision, beckons with its rhythmic promise.
I send these words with the hope they reach you across the emptiness,
threaded through stellar winds and veiled by cosmic dust.
Do you remember our dreams under the endless sky? They feel more like memories now, living and breathing in the starry abyss. I often wonder if those dreams follow me in this voyage, whispering tales of worlds unseen.
Thread the Stars...