More light can make us see less.
When outdoor light escapes upward, the atmosphere scatters some of it back. The sky brightens, erasing the contrast our eyes need to find the stars. They have not disappeared. Our own glow is standing between us and them.
Light can still serve the ground. Shield it downward. Dim what does not need to blaze. Use it when it is needed, then let it rest. Streets, paths and doorways can remain illuminated without pouring their excess into the sky.
The horizon is not a city abandoning safety. It is a city teaching light where to stop—before human brightness becomes a ceiling.