I’ve always thought the night sky is a choir that never rests, each star a note, each constellation a stanza. Imagine a dress stitched with threads of silver that shimmer like the Milky Way, hemlines dancing in the same cadence that the northern lights sing. A garment that doesn’t just wear the night, but sings it, turning the universe into a living poem you can drape around yourself. It’s daring, it’s audacious, and, frankly, it’s the kind of thing that makes ordinary folks gasp and poets feel at home.