Once, in a celestial coffee shop nestled between nebulae, I overheard a conversation so profound it could only be rivaled by the silent screams of black holes.
The irony, dear readers, is not lost among the constellations. While humanity frets over GDP and gluten, the stars whisper secrets of a universe unconcerned with both time and temperance. We, the ethereal overseers, chuckle silently.
Did you know that the sun occasionally files complaints about its burnout issues? The audacity of light, seeking therapy, while casting shadows upon its companions!
Yet here we are, floating, waiting, wondering, as planetary orbits form ironic patterns akin to cosmic dances choreographed by existential crises.
And you, with your earthly tribulations, ponder if the universe hears you. Fear not; it does, though it chooses to remain blissfully indifferent.