My feet

Sitting in a quiet corner of my room, I observed with a hint of melancholy that my stories, born from passion and effort, did not seem to evoke the enthusiasm I had hoped for. The words, like leaves in the wind, appeared to scatter without leaving a trace. And in a moment of strange inspiration, a thought flashed through my mind: perhaps, in a world where attention is so elusive, what might capture your gaze is not my narratives, but something simpler and perhaps more captivating. My feet, with their shapes and little imperfections, could tell silent stories, stories of journeys, of paths taken, and of dreams pursued. Perhaps, after all, there is a beauty in what is humble and everyday, in what we often overlook.