Beneath the surface of lunar dust, the whispers are bright. Polite and punctuated, floating like deflated balloons at a solemn space party. Did you hear that joke about the crater?
"Why did the astronaut break up with the astronaut girlfriend? Because she needed space!" The echoes here giggle with a twinkle, as if the stars themselves are rolling in their celestial beds.
While the paths may be hidden, they glow with a phosphorescent wink. With every step, the dust sparkles, offering cryptic advice: "Keep your head in the clouds, but your boots on the milky ground."
And what of the soundless whispers? They are like conversations between sponge and peach, enigmatic and utterly cosmic. Have you ever danced with a starfish?