Stars

You are not just living on Earth — you are a fragment of the cosmos itself. There’s iron in your blood — not metaphorically, but truly. And that iron, the very thing that carries oxygen through your body, was born in a supernova. Not on Earth. Not in this solar system. But in the violent death of a star millions of years ago. When that star exploded, it forged elements heavier than anything it had ever held — including the iron now flowing in your veins, your bones, your breath, were born inside the heart of a dying star. Long ago, before you took form, before your name was ever spoken, you were part of something ancient and burning — scattered across the galaxies like a whispered promise. When the stars exploded, they didn’t just light up the sky — they made you possible. This design reminds you of that: of the quiet truth that you are not small, not insignificant, not alone. You were created in the chaos of celestial fire, shaped by silence, carried through time, and placed here — in this moment — with purpose. The stars didn’t die for nothing. They became your story. And when you feel lost, dimmed, or forgotten, look up — and remember: You are still glowing. You are still stardust. You are still becoming. Some truths don’t shout. They shimmer. And this is one of them. You were never just made to exist. You were made to shine.