I’ve had enough of staring at the rot. I’ve begged for this — to lift my eyes off the ground, off the engineered decay, off the endless grind of what’s broken. Just once, I wanted to look at something untouched by all of this. Something that doesn’t take, doesn’t scheme, doesn’t ask me to endure more. So here: a window out. The Carina Nebula. A vast stellar nursery 7,500 light-years away, where new suns are born in clouds of gas and dust, where even violence becomes beauty, where stars like Eta Carinae blaze so fiercely they reshape the space around them. It’s not here. It’s not of here. And tonight, that’s exactly what I need.