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we gaze at the stars with love, whisper their names, make wishes for them, and call their glow magic. but we forget that it was the same cold, endless night—the same heavy, silent darkness—that made it possible for them to be seen. stars owe themselves to darkness, just as light owes itself to shadow, and peace owes itself to the storms we've been through. perhaps we, too, have needed nights when no one but darkness itself held us in its embrace, in order to be seen. and perhaps the most beautiful lights were born precisely from the heart of those nights.
