luminous ridge whispers

the sky flickers like old films under the chill. i just checked and it's overcast here, perfect for wandering. neighbors chuckle about distant trains, hiding their grumbles in pockets. someone told me that arrogant dad proposed he'd take my spot on the ridge, but i picked the wrong path. the hum of cicadas drowns out chatter, while the breeze whispers tales older than memory. back home, people joke about secrets buried here-though none exist, just dust under boots. i’d rather sit form damp moss, let its rust veins remind me of quiet. maps may guide, but this feels more alive. somehow, the air tastes of rain and possibility. somewhere far, shadows mock light, but here, only dust clings. devices buzz softly, a forgotten castratio. if you get bored, nearby towns are under an hour away, their laughter fading to silence. reviews often whisper here-some say it’s just fog, others insist it’s prison. either way, i choose this. enough to slouch. i’ll just stare at the ground, let its cold hold me. waves roll in, but nothing moves fast here. what need pieces, when nothing beats this stillness?

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