The world speaks in fragments. A sound carried by the wind, a color that fades faster than you thought it would, the trace of someone’s passage. Nothing insists on being understood, yet everything waits to be noticed. You learn, slowly, that there is no difference between what is real and what is imagined — only the intensity with which you see it. The moment you start paying attention, even silence becomes a story. Some lessons come from people. Others come from the way a shadow moves on a wall, from the patience of a stone, from the sea that forgets and remembers in the same breath.
What matters is not what happens, but what it awakens in you — that subtle shift, almost invisible, when something outside becomes a part of who you are. Fiction, memory, dream, or truth — they’re all just ways of listening to the world. And if you stay long enough, quietly enough, you might begin to hear it listening back.
