Have you ever thought about how stories cling to your bones? Like the way memories of childhood summers get wrapped around your spine, lending strength to your thoughts.
You can almost hear those echoes, can't you? Whispering through the marrow of your being.
Sometimes, a word passes by and you grasp it, not because it belongs to your reality, but because it was meant for you once, long ago.
It's like finding a fragment of yourself stitched into someone else's narrative. Isn't it amazing how shared stories are?
Ever sat by a fire and let the smoke carry your words away?
That's how whispers become part of nature's cycle, recirculating until they're planted in the hearts of trees or fluttering in the dreams of the stars.