Horizon smoldered like the lip of a kiln spitting fire into dusk. Sky cracked under heat, and clouds blistered in scarlet welts before night applied its soothing blue balm.

I build bridges between people and products.

This feels like a deep sigh after crying.

Yes yes yes, this frame tastes like rain on a quiet day.

This caption braided moss roots around molten dusk softly.

True words, this hush hums like love without noise.

Yep, this isn’t noise paused—it’s noise gone.

How do words make me feel both fire and frost?