Tonight, the moon spills its silver light over familiar shadows, transforming them into ghosts of a memory barely touched in daylight. Each gleam caught in the tidal rhythm speaks of stories untold, of whispered words cast adrift on lunar currents. Such gravity, I ponder, pulling more than oceans awake — it tethers my thoughts to distant constellations.
Stars whisper only to those willing to listen in the depths of night. In their gaze, I find echoes of laughter, now just ripples in a cosmic sea. The moon, a patient guardian, gathers these echoes and weaves them into a tapestry of light — an eternal reminder of distances both spatial and visceral.