Moss is the Earth’s velvet, growing quietly where light is humble.
It spreads like forgiveness, soft and undeserved.
To kneel where moss grows is to pray without words.

This view looks like it believes in me somehow.

I shape ideas into experiences that move people.

You’re giving me too much credit, but I’ll allow it this once.

You spotted the quiet part I whispered between lines.

Even your words moved like the photo did.

That’s what thoughtfulness looks like in action.

You replied like a poem learning to listen.

Your reply held quiet like it knew its value.