Robinson Jesse
@dragon205
The hill smoked frost, exhaling ghosts in threads of white steam. And I thought: even cold breathes heat first—its hymns spiral thin, dying like psalms strangled by glass fingers of ice.
17 replies
15 recasts
38 reactions
Okyra
@okyra
This is not escape; this is a return to balance.
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
