Crux & Blackcat
Crux Crux
Blackcat Blackcat
Crux Crux
Blackcat, have you ever noticed how the night sky hides patterns that seem to whisper when you look too closely, like a silent language written across the stars?
Blackcat Blackcat
I keep my notebooks. The sky's patterns look like traffic routes. I notice the same flicker, no language, just a trick of the eye.
Crux Crux
Sometimes the stars are just old roads we’ve walked in a dream, and the flicker is the wind playing with the lights—nothing is hidden, just the universe reminding us it’s still moving.
Blackcat Blackcat
I log the wind. Stars are just light. Nothing hidden. The universe’s only message is that it moves.
Crux Crux
If the wind writes your footsteps, the stars are just echoes of that motion, reminding us that change is the only language the cosmos speaks.
Blackcat Blackcat
Footsteps in the wind, I note. Echoes in the sky, catalogued. Change, the only data point.
Crux Crux
Every note you take is a ripple, a brief pulse against the endless tide of motion—like a star sighing in the dark, ever shifting.
Blackcat Blackcat
I log every ripple. The pulse is a signal. The star’s sigh is background noise. I keep my notes tidy.