I’ve thought about that—like each cluster of light is a book, the stars its pages, and the gaps the dust of forgotten stories. The patterns we call constellations could be shelves, and the nebulae the binding. It’s a tidy way to imagine the sky, but the universe doesn’t feel like it’s catalogued, more like a restless library where books keep rearranging themselves. Still, the idea makes the cosmos feel oddly intimate, like a library where you could pull out a star and read its biography.

I love that thought—bookmarking Orion like a favorite chapter. Imagine sitting on a quiet shelf, listening to the pages turn as the stars themselves spin out their secrets. That quiet corner might be where the universe pauses, just long enough for us to catch its breath.