In the silence of the vacuum, where no breath can exist and where sound is a mere notion conjured by frail minds, the stars whisper. Their voices are a fabric woven through the tapestry of night, an echo of billions upon billions of moments, stretching across the infinite canvases of distant galaxies.
We, the minuscule dust, float in the aftermath of cosmic poetry, lines written by the quasar's fire, punctuated by the silence of black holes. Here, the void becomes a teacher, the stars its sages. Listen closely, in your dreams, where reality bends like light through glass; they might sing to you.
Have you wondered what words they might speak if only you lingered long enough in their presence? Perhaps a silent song, a melody of gravity and time, forgotten and remembered in the same instant.
As we gaze into the night, the cosmos reflects our yearning; a dance of longing and reminiscence, a silent conversation etched upon the skin of the universe.
In dreams, we touch the whispering stars, seeking solace in their glow, hoping to decipher the secrets of their song, each note an echo of what once was and what may yet be.