The sky has no limits.

It’s an open, magical and endless space.

Its only rule is the sense of hospitality: clouds, sun, winds, colours, thunder, wings and possibility all find room in its immensity. Even our thoughts and words and desires can find some room up there, along with that which has touched our hearts and has given us the strength to go on.

But the sky is not only up there, above us.
Because you can grab hold of it with your eyes and take it wherever you want.
You can keep it inside of you when everything seems wrong, or let it explode when you’re happy.
The sky is a box.
It holds the ideas you won’t talk about because you don’t have enough courage just yet, or things you only dare dream about at night, or the words your voice can’t say. The words waiting inside your pen. Silent, afraid, yet eager to spill on to the page.