One foot already touches the native moss, soaked in the earth's dew. But the hand still cling to the doorpost, as if hesitant to release the last connection with the cosmic abyss.

The hair has just been in zero gravity, braided into invisible constellations. But the weight is already returning—to the ankles, to the vertebrae, to the eyelids, becoming leaden under the earth's gravity.

Behind the blue-green glow of the nebulae fades in the doorway, the cold of the vacuum is slowly replaced by the breath of the forest, the silence of the universe dissolves into the song of birds.

This is not the end of the journey. It is the moment when space leaves a trace on your shoulder as a farewell, barely noticeable, like the charcoal dust from a burnt star.

This is the last moment before the realities separate again. But the door will remain. In case the stars call again.