While the stars fall, the night forgets its stillness, each streak a fleeting letter written in fire. The sky becomes a restless manuscript, where wishes break open like seeds in the dark..
We lift our eyes to the vanishing light, hearts trembling at the beauty of endings. For every falling star is a reminder that brilliance is not lessened by brevity.
Some will pray into the wind between sparks, others will simply watch in silence. Both are holy, for both are honest, and the stars require nothing more.
While the stars fall, we remember ourselves— fragile yet radiant, passing yet infinite. And though the night will swallow their trails, their fire will remain inside our dreaming.
