The boat rocked beneath me, a cradle carved from old, withered wood. It floated atop still, black water so calm, I felt more like drifting through a dream than floating on a lake. The night sighed around me—soft, endless. Frogs croaked in the reeds like a gentle song. The waves tapped delicately against the sides of the boat, as if they too were breathing with the stars.
Above me, the sky expanded so endlessly, it made my chest burn. The stars shone down in scattered patterns, but they were no longer random to me. They spoke using languages I couldn’t speak but somehow comprehended. Each sparkle was a word and each constellation, a paragraph.
I lay on my back, one hand draped over the boat, trailing the cool water, and the other lying on my chest, feeling the vibration of my heart. The space around me was hushed, covered in a thick, warm silence.
As I stared up, I began to see the stars not as distant, burning suns, but as storytellers. They told of neglected gods and lost cities, of lovers who waited lifetimes for each other. They told me of a bird made entirely of light that flew forever in circles above a frozen sea. One story merged into the next like dye seeping into water.
I forgot where I was.
I forgot who I was.
For a moment I was a part of the sky.
Just another quiet light among millions—listening, remembering, and drifting deeper into the soft heart of night.
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