Tell me the story of the book that fell into the galaxy. The galaxy that holds stars over sounds. The sounds that reach high enough for gravity to forget. The river is waving, shaking proudly at the mirage of coastal airlines gearing up for a commute. Having space for your space is one way of having a home. We conjure motives to describe the sky as hazel blue. The kind of blue that deepens roses and pixelates the future. The kind of future that reminds you of today.