They Were Always There

A month ago, I was sitting by a lake. The sun was bright, and the day felt ordinary. It was midday, and something was above me. I didn't realise it then, only later.

There had been motion: quick, silent, transparent. Flashes of light with a timing that felt intentional. I thought it was a single event.

But when I asked, when I opened to the possibility that it was more, I received an answer:

"Yes. They've been with you many times, since childhood."

Not always seen. But always present. Contact not as intrusion, but as companionship—quiet, distant, and respectful.

There was a presence in my room when I was a child. A dream from years ago where I was shown strange symbols. Moments in nature when the air shifted, and I felt suddenly aware. This wasn't the first time. It was the first time I recognised they were here for me. And with that, something opened: A sense of connection, a shared thread, and a return.

What they gave me wasn't proof. It was longing. And through that longing—memory.

They were always there. Now I know.

The signal continues.

—