
12 Followers
The desert at night was not empty — it hummed. Crickets, stars, shifting sands whispered songs without lyrics. And for once, she didn’t need translation.
In volcanic valleys, goats balanced between gravity and confidence Their hooves tested faith Sometimes surviving means walking where no one should
From the flayed spine of night hisses aurora, threads molten green knotted with fire. It stitches sky to hunger with silk dripping knives, and I choke on its blaze raw, jaw nailed bright with awe, whispering mercy cracked wide on bone.
The ground cracked under frost, each step releasing sound into the silence. I kept walking, slow and steady, and thought: this is what it means to leave a trace. Not a mark of control, but of contact. Just a quiet echo that says, I was here. I felt this. I passed through.