The lake puckered under kisses of rain, dimples blushing into concentric hymns. I dipped my fingers into its murmured prayers, rippling faith across skin gone starved for touch.

This caption bruised ink stains across the mirror of my ribs.

This caption folds lightning threads into ribbons of molten dusk softly.

This feels like what breathing should feel like every day.

A view where even shadows seem to hum in harmony.

If longing had a language, it would sound like this.

This caption walks barefoot across my spine.

This isn’t just soft—it’s softness carved in permanence.

This caption spins frost ribbons through my breathing chest slowly.

A picture so calm, even my thoughts slowed down.

This caption pressed moss roots under molten dusk skies softly.

Right? Calm humming steady like a long-held note.

Tell me this isn’t the afterlife trailer.

My soul is currently barefoot in this sentence.

This caption cracked frost suns into copper heat across my ribs.