Conversations I Only Have With the Sky

Sometimes I feel like the sky is the only one patient enough to listen.It’s strange how there are thoughts I don’t dare speak aloud, questions that echo only when the world has gone quiet. I look up, and it’s like the sky already knows. Maybe it always did.I’ve told it about the people I miss but never admit to. About dreams that don’t make sense, but still pull me like gravity. About how I can be surrounded and still feel a silence that bites at the edges of me.

Some nights, I talk to it without saying a word. Just lying there, wide awake, while my subconscious walks beside me, whispering truths I’m not ready to face in daylight. He knows me too well, knows when I’m pretending to be okay and when I’m holding in something I can’t name.I think that’s why I never really feel alone under the sky. It doesn’t interrupt. It doesn’t judge. It just stays. Soft. Constant. Infinite.

And I wonder, how many others are lying in their rooms right now, staring at the same sky, quietly hoping someone sees the version of them that even they don’t understand yet?

Maybe we were never meant to be fully understood by others—only gently noticed by the ones who see the quiet wars we never speak of