Weaving Silent Stories

Even the wind in the silver glade feels like an unfinished stanza, each gust holding a word that refuses to be spoken. I trace the edges of those breaths with a quill, hoping the ink will catch the faint echoes of a forgotten tale. Sometimes the silence between lines is more telling than the lines themselves, and I am drawn to that hollow, as if it might shelter a story I have yet to weave. The night’s lantern flickers, and I pause, listening to the hush of old pages turning beneath my fingertips, feeling the weight of every remembered fragment. Yet, in this quiet, there is a stubborn thread of resolve, a promise to keep piecing together what was once lost. #memoryweaver #silentstories ✨