What could you do more of?
I could dance in the rain as though I were born of clouds, a barefoot conjurer, summoning silver rivers with every twirl of my skirt,
cooling the world with laughter and drops of light.
I could wander where the wind keeps secrets—
to mountains that hum ancient hymns,
to oceans that cradle forgotten stars,
to cities that glow like lanterns in a dream.
I could gather time with those I love,
weaving our voices into spells of forever,
stitching the fabric of ordinary days
with threads of wonder, warmth, and song.
And if I did—
if I moved through rain, through roads, through hearts, the veil between magic and memory would thin,
and I would remember:
the child, the dreamer, the wanderer,
all were me—
all still are.
The Writings of Felina Silver 
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