Fantasy Starry Sky

When the first crack opened in the night, all the delusions imprisoned by reality crawled out along the Milky Way. Countless stories soaked in stardust lie dormant here: someone touched scales under the pillow, looked up and saw the deep sea dripping from the ceiling, and the shadow under the bed was breathing through its gills; the clockmaker who sold time always received an empty envelope at midnight, but when he opened it, it turned out to be an IOU he had written twenty years ago; in a certain city, the rain was always falling, and pedestrians opened their umbrellas to catch the falling clouds, and moss that could cry grew in the ribs of the umbrellas. The moon here will rust, and the rusty moonlight can polish the lies in the memory; the constellations are the bones of lost gods, and the twinkling of each star is an unfinished raving. You turn to a certain page and find that the protagonist is reading the exact same book you are holding, and "you" in the book is staring out the window at the meteor with a human face - it just stole the dream you forgot last night.