The universe is not just a place, but a gesture. It doesn’t explain — it suggests. It speaks in the language of expansion and silence, of matter being born and dying without witnesses. Its nature cannot be measured, it can only be sensed: in the curve of a galaxy, in the pulse of a star, in the human heartbeat that wonders where it came from.
Perhaps the most honest way to face the universe is not to understand it, but to participate in its movement: to accept that we are a fragment of its mystery, a brief spark within its infinite breath.
