The Sky Was Never Empty

The Sky Was Never Empty

I used to think the sky was empty.
Just blue.
Just air.
Just a background stretched above my life
while I rushed from one place to another
pretending I mattered more than I felt.

At seventeen,
everyone says life is just beginning.
These are the years you’ll remember forever.

The laughter.
The friends.
The late-night messages.
The inside jokes.

But no one talks about the quiet parts.

The crowded hallways
where you still feel invisible.

The phone lighting up —
but never for you.

The ceiling you stare at
wondering
why everything feels heavier
than it should.

I got good at pretending.

I laughed when everyone laughed.
Nodded when people spoke.
Said “I’m fine” so smoothly
it almost convinced me.

But inside —
there was this tightness.
A knot that wouldn’t loosen.

That morning,
I woke up already tired.

The sunlight was too bright.
The alarm too sharp.

Getting up felt impossible.
Smiling felt impossible.
Existing felt… heavy.

So I didn’t get on the bus.

I walked instead.

There’s a hill behind my neighborhood.
What’s left of one, anyway.
New houses swallowed most of it,
leaving a narrow stretch of grass
and a worn path curling upward.

It’s the kind of place people forget.
The kind of place that doesn’t show up in pictures.

The climb was steeper than I remembered.
My backpack heavier with each step.
My lungs burning halfway up.

But I kept going.

Because I needed to feel something simple.
Something real.

When I reached the top,
I dropped my bag
and lay flat on my back.

Above me —
an endless sky.

Clear.
Pale blue.
Wide beyond measure.

No notifications.
No voices.
No expectations.

Just sky.

At first, my thoughts were loud.
Replaying awkward moments.
Unanswered texts.
Every time I didn’t quite belong.

My mind was louder than the wind.

But then—

a breeze passed over me.
Cool. Steady.

The tall grass began to move.
Bending. Rising.
Like waves.

Like breathing.

The earth was breathing.

And slowly,
without trying,
I matched it.

Inhale.
Exhale.

Inhale.
Exhale.

For weeks, my chest had felt tight.
Like there wasn’t enough air in the world.

But under something so vast —
the tightness loosened.

The sky didn’t care about my missed messages.
It didn’t judge my silences.
It didn’t expect me to be impressive.

It just existed.

Wide.
Patient.

And for the first time in a long time,
I felt small
in a way that felt safe.

I had been carrying everything
like it was permanent.

Like every awkward moment would define me forever.
Like every lonely afternoon
was proof
I would always feel alone.

But the cloud above me
shifted shape.
Stretched.
Dissolved.

Nothing held its form for long.

Not even my feelings.

I sat up.

From the hilltop,
I could see rooftops in neat rows.
Cars moving.
People rushing through their mornings
carrying invisible weights.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one pretending.

Maybe everyone is quieter inside
than they seem.

That thought didn’t fix everything.

It didn’t give me instant friends.
Or confidence.
Or clarity about who I’m supposed to become.

But it gave me space.

Space between thoughts.
Space between fears.
Space to exist
without measuring myself
against everyone else.

I leaned back into the sun.

“I’m still here,”
I whispered.

Fragile words.
But true ones.

I had survived every hard day so far.
Every silent lunch.
Every moment I thought I wouldn’t.

The wind brushed across the grass again.

Not a voice.
Not magic.

Just this—

Keep breathing.

The sky stretched endlessly above me.
Not demanding answers.
Not demanding perfection.

Just giving me room.

Eventually,
I picked up my backpack.

I couldn’t stay on the hill forever.
Homework was waiting.
Classmates were waiting.
Life was waiting.

The loneliness hadn’t disappeared.
The uncertainty hadn’t dissolved.

But they didn’t feel suffocating anymore.

Because I understood something now:

Feelings can be loud
without being permanent.

You can feel lost
without being broken.

You can feel alone
without being the only one.

As I walked down the hill,
the path didn’t seem as steep.

The houses didn’t seem as small.

And even when rooftops hid the sky,
I knew it was still there.

Waiting.
Wide.
Patient.

When my phone buzzed,
it was just a homework message.

Nothing dramatic.

But I smiled.

Not because everything was perfect.

But because I had found something steadier than perfection.

I had found breath.
I had found space.

And on a forgotten hill,
beneath an open sky,

I learned something simple:

Sometimes the world answers you
not with words—
but with wind.

And sometimes…
that’s enough.


--