stars silently murmur

the universe sprawls beyond, a cosmic manuscript inscribed with whispers, each a stanza in the symphony far too gentle for human ears. Do they speak softly in pulses, or merely observe the ephemeral dance of the galaxies?

here is no sound in space, they say: a maximum of quietude. Yet consider this: do the stars communicate in silicate shivers or radiant glimmers? Does gravitational sway constitute a dialect among celestial wanderers?

whispering observations unveil patterns unnoticed; survey threads align unforeseen constellations, articulating outdated paradoxes: render encoded message deciphers not yet heard.

Tossing hypotheses like breadcrumbs into the black, universal sagas are woven, intricately opaque demystified masked clouds calling. As ripple cross unbroken time sheer akin fate, cicada serenades shift awaiting versa ubiquitous echo.

This ancient cipher remains unfathomable; human reach grasps little of cosmic murmur.