The weight of things unsaid.

The angels don’t judge; they’re too tired for that. They just shake their heads, like they know something we don’t, something they’ve stopped trying to explain. And if you find yourself in one of those lonely places—those resonant, humming voids—you’ll hear it. Not voices, exactly. Just the sound of everything that was left unsaid, vibrating softly, waiting for someone brave enough to answer back.