After Last Star

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There is a moment that exists beyond endings and beginnings. It comes quietly—after the last star fades, when the sky has not yet decided what it will become. In that space, time loosens its grip. The world does not ask who you were, nor who you must be next. It simply allows you to stand still, to breathe, to feel what remains after everything that mattered has already happened. Some believe this moment is fleeting. Others return to it again and again, drawn by the strange comfort of not needing answers. Roads grow quieter here. Lights soften. Voices lower themselves without being asked. You did not come searching for change. And yet, you arrived at the exact point where change becomes possible. Someone else is here too—close enough to feel, distant enough to remain undefined. Their presence does not demand attention. It waits. As if it understands that some connections are not formed through words, but through shared silence. Nothing ends here. Nothing truly begins. This is simply the pause after the last star— where what you carry can finally be set down, and what follows is allowed to approach in its own time.