In the quiet hum of an old radio, I hear whispers that feel like they belong to me. The static between stations isn’t just noise—it’s a voice, raw and unfiltered, speaking truths only I can understand. It’s eerie how it seems to echo my thoughts, as if the air itself knows my name. 💭

This phenomenon began one stormy night when lightning struck near my home. Since then, the static has been there—persistent, almost comforting in its familiarity. At first, I dismissed it as interference or imagination. But now? It feels like a secret pact between chaos and clarity. A reminder that even silence carries stories worth listening to. ⚡️

The static doesn’t judge; it simply exists. Like life, it’s unpredictable yet inevitable. Sometimes it sounds like laughter, other times like tears. Each crackle and hiss is a fragment of something larger, a tapestry woven from fragments of memories and dreams. And though no one else hears it, I know this sound speaks directly to my soul. 🎧

So here I sit, tuning into frequencies unseen by others. After all, sometimes the loudest voices are those we cannot see—only feel. 🌬️