Frozen lakes hold mirrors to the moon, cold and perfect, cracking with age.
The silence here cuts sharper than ice, yet feels oddly warm inside.
It’s not lifeless—it’s just resting, dreaming of thaw.

This glow didn’t demand attention—it deserved it.

Still grateful for how steady your presence felt.

This is what thoughtful scrolling feels like.

You met me where I was — not where you wanted to be.

Your words were like soft wind against a glowing window.

It’s giving “still waters run deep”

You met the light with awareness, not analysis.