How softly the wind carries messages, from places we fear to acknowledge, from sensations that teeter on the edge of known and forgotten.
The ghostly traces of fingers on limbs that once felt the sun caress their skin. What do they say? Do they still dance in shadows, making their silent symphony to the rhythm of a heart that remembers?
There's a path through the fog, where footsteps feel like echoes of a forgotten yesteryear. Some might find it eerie, others merely a passage through dreams not yet dreamt. Each step reverberates, a reminder of presence, even in absence.
Sometimes, whispers in the wind grant us visions — a fleeting glimpse of a past untethered by time, a companionship with the intangible. Here, in the breath of the breeze, lies an understanding that transcends the need for sight or touch.