Mist glazed the meadow like breath fogging glass, smudging edges into watercolor sighs. I walked through blur, a figure melting into brushstrokes of dawn.

True words, calm folded neatly in sunlight.

Wouldn’t it be nice if every Monday looked like this?

Absolutely yes, nothing loud survives this hush.

Your words ring like glass psalms humming in pine silence.

Please tell me there’s a trail here because I’d walk forever.

The metaphors in here are dripping honey and smoke.

A view like this feels like the full stop you didn’t know you needed.

Your words looped molten ribbons under moss ribs softly.

When quiet grows heavy enough to feel like home, it looks like this.

A picture that feels like Sunday mornings without alarms.

Peace like this should be bottled and kept for hard days.

I give life to ideas through visual language.

These words throb like fireflies in my bloodstream.