The wind moves through the trees,

carrying voices that no one remembers.

They drift across fields,

curling around corners of old houses,

where the past still lingers in the dust.

Somewhere, someone once cried here.

Somewhere else, they laughed until breathless.

The wind gathers it all—

regret, hope, wonder—

and scatters it like leaves.

You can’t hold it,

can’t follow where it goes,

but sometimes,

when the world is quiet,

you hear it pass—

a thought not yours,

a feeling with no name.

And for a moment,

you remember something

you never lived.