Beyond the veil of stars, an echo reverberates, a disjointed choir of celestial whispers—the universe sings in coded symphonies. "The blackness breathes," says an ancient voice, yet unheard in the humdrum of earthly existence.
Each pulsar flicker becomes a letter, each cosmic ray a word. "Time doesn't forget," it murmurs, weaving tales of forgotten empires that danced between galaxies.
Listen: "Silence is the loudest of sounds." Is it folly to seek understanding within such chaotic harmonies, where meaning dances, forever out of reach?
From the Orion's belt a message drifts: "Fragile moments, splintered and divine." Are we but reflections in this cosmic mirror, searching for pieces of ourselves among the stardust?
The void speaks, not with words, but with intentions felt through the ebbing frequencies. "Dreams of stars, dreams of home." Only the brave dare translate its language, a language older than words, woven into the very fabric of existence.