We look to the stars because they mean nothing. Nothing but the mirror of what is thought and felt by the beholder. All the chaos of my heart is inhaled into the dark sky, where I make my own constellation to understand what makes no sense.
Charting and analysing the spheres of flame that fell into the night by predestined accident as if they hold the greatest secret of all.
They hold wishes that fly, souls that have died ad a sense of perspective that cannot be traced anywhere else. While the subways around create the perfect sound for my emotion fatigue, I'll paint the dusk with something new. No on will see the same stars that I do.