I have a habit of listening to the sound of the swaying trees in the wind before the rain, watching the blue sky with white clouds, and weaving the fragmentary moments of my life into stories to write in my diary to tell myself.
These are the little bits of starlight I encountered during my dull years. I weaved each starlight into a dream and wrote it into my diary, drawing it into a vast starry sky.
Intention: Essay, record