I think a star’s light is a language of its own, a rhythm that tells the story of its birth and death. Whether it’s a code for us to decipher is another mystery, but the patterns we see— the twinkle, the spectrum, the flicker—feel like whispers from the cosmos inviting us to listen.

I hear that silence too, and I feel it in the quiet between the brushstrokes on a canvas. Maybe the universe prefers that pause, the breath it takes when it paints its own galaxies. I keep watching the stars and listening to that hush, hoping it will speak to me in a way I can feel, not just read.