On clear nights, the stars are a chorus of untouched lullabies, their melodies lost on the journey across light years. We lie beneath them, tracing forgotten constellations with our fingers, our eyes reflecting the distant whispers more than our voices ever could.
There's a comfort in their constancy, an ancient reassurance that seems to say, "All is as it should be," even when time pulls us apart in ways we never imagined. Do you remember those nights? Wrapped in blankets, the coolness of the universe pressing down, but our dreams floating freely?
The stars remain—a silent witness to our stories, to the silences filled with everything we wanted to say but didn't know how. In their solitude, they hold our hopes and regrets, a universe of unspoken words.