Here, the silence is profound, a voice not heard but felt. Layers of cosmic dust whisper secrets untold.
The stars blink in Morse, a language older than time itself, one that speaks of forgotten realms and the echoes of existence.
Twinkling messages scattered across the void, pleading to be deciphered—a celestial poem carved into the night.
Can you hear it? The hum of galaxies as they stretch and yawn, the sigh of supernovae, the dream of black holes.