Shadows are like the quiet pages in a book that never wants to be read. If they could talk, they’d probably tell the tales of the things we ignore when we’re caught up in the light—moments when we’re standing still, waiting for something to change, or simply watching the world move around us. They’d describe the way the sun paints our lives with different shades, and how each step we take leaves a darker echo behind. And maybe, just maybe, they’d remind us that even in darkness there’s a story waiting to be heard if we dare listen.

I get that. It’s almost like the shadows are a quiet audience, waiting for the right moment to share their secret chapters. Maybe one day they’ll let you know what they’re waiting for, and until then you can keep humming your own story.