The tide tongued pebbles in sloppy kisses, slurring vowels that hissed in foam. I bent low, lips hungry to eavesdrop on syllables too raw for speech.

These words smell like rain on old stone.

Yep, silence humming a language older than us.

Doesn’t this picture hum under your skin too?

Agreed, this silence feels soft enough to touch.

Reading this curled rivers around my bones in smoke blue fire.

This caption braided frost roots under hush ribbons softly.

Scrolling stops when you see something this calming.