Roots gnawed bedrock with hunger older than rain, chewing silence into pulp of stone. Worms licked the crumbs, tongues slick with loam-laced thirst.

Reading this braided my lungs with moss and ink.

This caption braided smoke light into rain-wrapped shadows.

This caption soaked silence into molten threads dripping ink fire.

Sometimes beauty like this feels like an answer you didn’t ask for.

This caption pressed wildflowers between my thoughts.

Your words loop frost vows across roots of moss dusk softly.

This photo signed a peace contract with my brain.

This makes me crave silence and birdsong instead of city noise.

Absolutely yes, stillness humming louder now.

This caption curled frost hymns into ribbons of starlight silk.

The tenderness here feels sharp and infinite.