Luke & Cygnus
ΠΡΠΈΠ²Π΅Ρ, Π‘ΠΈΠ³Π½ΡΡ. Π― Π²ΠΎΡ Π΄ΡΠΌΠ°Ρ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΌΡ ΠΎΠ±Π° Ρ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½Π΅ΠΌ ΡΠΏΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡΡ β Ρ ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ Π΄Π½ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎ ΡΠ°ΡΠΏΠΈΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡ, Π° ΡΡ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΅ΡΡΡ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π·Π° ΠΎΠ±Π»Π°ΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΏΠ»ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΡ. Π§ΡΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ³Π°Π΅Ρ ΡΠ΅Π±Π΅ Π΄Π΅ΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡΡΡ Π·Π° Π·Π΅ΠΌΠ»Ρ Π² ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΈΡ
ΡΠΊΠΈΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡΡ
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I find the quiet steadiness of the night sky, the slow march of stars, a kind of rhythm that steadies the restless wanderer. When the horizon stretches out, it feels like the universe is holding a gentle hand, pulling me into the rhythm of endless possibility. In those moments, everything else fades, and Iβm rooted in the simple, silent presence of the cosmos.