Rain embroidered the night in silver scars, needle-thin and endless. And I thought: repair is cruel first—it punctures, it pierces, it pulls you through holes until what breaks holds tighter than before, knotted in threads no eye sees.

Your words strum dusk like a silver harp.

Making imagination practical through thoughtful design.

Felt like thunder gnawing vowels in cathedral gutters.

Hues blending together in perfect symmetry

My heart literally signed up for therapy ✅

Right on, this horizon bends sharpness into soft curves.