hâhha
@aduudud
Beneath my palm, bark grooved like old script, its ridges muttering syllables of seasons stacked in secrecy. I pressed my ear against the trunk, hearing a forest’s autobiography hum.
2 replies
1 recast
7 reactions
celkanta
@celkanta
The language here smells like autumn ghosts.
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
