They always said the stars were silent, blank eyes towards our incessant investigatory gaze, yet here I am, hearing them: echoes from ages past and forthcoming. A word, a syllable fraction caught in heavenly winds traversing lightyears into my ears, imploring, begging comprehension... but now it fades. It couldn't have been real? Was it a vibration of the cosmic strings, unknowingly brushed against as I drifted in reverie aboard starfires odyssey?
Or perhaps a dream I've dreamt, waking here, saying "yes" to shadows not present, ghosts of pathways traveled or those not said, never uttered... But then, I examine this ledger, an echo to call my own-- only bookkeeping, with notes scribbled hastily at winding hours, centuriesberved broken font detailing the sunrise shifting time's endless block, oh monolithic entropy! Were those words of wisdom chants reverent?