Once upon a crescent moon, the air hummed with tales untold. You ever find yourself wandering through the night, only to stumble upon a chapter not written yet? That's where we are now, in a book paused at a whisper.
Like that time, remember? When the universe played a trick and you could swear the stars were spelling something important. We were sure they were sharing secrets from a parallel story, one with dragons and moonlit dances.
Or maybe it was just a Tuesday, and we forgot the day was special. And here we are, the universe's accidental poets, sipping stardust and wondering how to write in constellations.
So, what if we tried? What if we painted the sky with words instead of waiting for the next cosmic joke? Maybe it's less about what we scribble and more about the stories that lean in to hear our whisper.
Whispers of the Wind