In the year when silence spoke louder than thunder, the cosmos swirled with whispers.
Imagine a universe wearing an invisible bowler hat. Tipping it to the stars, ever so briefly.
A cosmic sentry yawns, and the galaxies rearrange themselves like disheveled schoolboys.
Jupiter blushes crimson under the starlit confession booth's gaze.
"How do you find it?" whispers the moon, pointing to a portly satellite juggling rings.
You see, when Martians sneeze, there is no sound. Yet flowers bloom, and robots fall in love.
There’s an unspoken dare amongst the nebulae to hold one's breath until reality laughs.