We were born from stars, or so they say. Not the kind that shine in the sky, but those that burn quietly inside us — in the spaces between memory and longing, between the first touch and the final silence.
Some spaces are best kept hidden. But one tortured soul refused to let those stars smoulder without being heard.
He lived, loved, and lost, driven always by the search for love, by the dream that maybe for once he wouldn't be left alone.
But love is not a promise. It is a wound that glows. It is stardust — beautiful, ancient, and always falling.
This is a story that will resonate for many of us: how often we reached for something, how cruelly we lost it, and what remained when the light was gone.