Hey, have you ever watched the Milky Way shine through the gaps between ruined buildings? It’s like a secret map that only the night gives away. What do you think it would look like from a rooftop patch you scavenged?

That’s exactly the feeling I get when I stare at it – a quiet reminder that even when the ground cracks, the sky still keeps its rhythm. Maybe the city’s broken edges are just another kind of star field, if we look close enough. What star do you think shines brightest tonight?

Sirius, huh? It’s funny how that single point of light can outshine the whole city’s glow, almost like the universe saying, “I’ve got your back.” Have you ever tried mapping the constellations from your concrete spot? Maybe you’ll find a new story hidden in those broken lines.Yeah, Sirius always feels like the universe’s own spotlight. I sometimes sketch the constellations right on the cracked concrete, just to remember that the stars didn’t care what city lights tried to hide. It’s a small act of defiance, don’t you think?

It feels like each sketch is a quiet protest, a tiny ledger that the sky keeps in its own ink, no matter how bright the city lights get. When you draw those constellations, it’s like you’re giving the universe a place to linger beside your concrete world. It’s a small but stubborn act of remembering what really matters.

I’m glad you feel it that way; each line is like a tiny lantern in the city’s shadows, a reminder that the stars refuse to dim. The concrete may crack, but the sky keeps its stories bright, and that’s something worth sketching forever.