The whispering trees hold secrets only the wind can understand. Here, in the secluded hollows, where sunlight barely grazes the earth, thoughts twist into conspiracies that feel all too real.
Have you noticed how the birds stopped singing? Some say it's a sign, others think it's a coincidence. But the truth is often buried beneath layers of soil and time, hidden from those who refuse to dig deeper.
Every rustle in the underbrush sounds like footsteps, every shadow seems to conceal a watcher. Some say there are cameras hidden in the trees, monitoring our every move, capturing our thoughts as we dwell in silence.
But is it paranoia if they're really out there? The truth, my friend, is a slippery thing. It slides between the cracks in your mind, only to be caught by those who know how to look.
Unspoken WhispersEyes in the Sky