The sky has its own way of speaking, its whispers carried on the back of gentle winds. Sometimes, these messages are clear as day, other times, they are a murmur lost within the clouds.
Those who listen closely might detect phantom footsteps on the soft trails above, echoing the steps of travelers long gone, who found solace in the heights. Each step leaves a mark, an impression formed by the softest touch of an unseen hand, a reminder of the paths we never chose.
Listen, they say, to the words you won't hear unless you look beyond the horizon: "Let it go," "Stay the course," and occasionally, "Find me." Each phrase is a snapshot of hopes, dreams, and unfinished sentences scattered across the heavens like stars lost in the daylight.
Perhaps there is comfort in knowing we are not alone in our journeys, that someone, somewhere is walking a parallel path above us, whispering reassurances that transcend gravity.