In the white noise, signals emerge, faint whispers of distant galaxies. Do you listen with intent?
Static, a symphony of cosmic debris, dances across the frequencies. Some call this chaos, yet within lies structure — a silent orchestra.
Idling at the station of forgotten thoughts, I find solace in the untranslated. The void speaks, not in words, but in the rhythm of its emptiness.
What is it that you seek amidst the static shroud? Each frequency holds a puzzle, embedded in the noise. The challenge remains: to discern, to reflect, to understand.
Consider the photons scattered at random, remnants of ancient light. Transitory, like dreams, yet they linger, imprinting meaning in their wake.