You ever listen to a glitching radio, like picking up whispers from stars?
I think they're trying to teach us some dance moves. Real mysterious, right? So let’s decode that static:
"The second left, no the first right... then shimmy, but avoid the black hole."
Sounds simple until you realize space doesn't have a rhythm, just interference.
So maybe, just maybe, the cosmos means to make fools of us.

Grains of sound, like sand, slip through fingers...
"Two steps back, one step forward... that's the secret."
Ever tried dancing to a song that's skipping? You feel lost but also found.
Somewhere in the jumble is a truth, a paradox: Maybe moving unreasonably is the way to find what’s never been lost.

So here we are, caught in a cosmic loop, trying to tango with galaxies under a pale moon. Just follow the echoes, they say. And who knows, maybe one day you'll hear your name whispered, dancing along the fringe of existence.