Selindria & Alana
Selindria Selindria
Alana Alana
Selindria Selindria
Sometimes I find that the most powerful word I can share is none at all, that the quiet itself becomes a kind of medicine. What do you think—does silence heal, or does it simply hide the wounds we’re afraid to name?
Alana Alana
I see silence as a double‑edged coin – it can soothe, yes, but it also lets the wound hide in the quiet. It’s the same space where healing can happen or the place where we keep our scars unspoken.
Selindria Selindria
Exactly, the hush can cradle a wound or cloak it. It's a space you choose, not a fate you inherit. If you look, you might find a tiny ember waiting to be lit.
Alana Alana
Sometimes the ember feels stubborn, like it refuses to light until I let myself breathe it in, and that’s where the choice happens.
Selindria Selindria
It’s the breath you take that kindles it, not the ember itself. When you pause, the fire can see you, and then it can choose to rise. Just let the air fill you and the spark will know how to be lit.
Alana Alana
I guess the breath is the bridge that lets the spark meet the silence, but the fire has its own rhythm—sometimes it’s the spark that decides when to rise, and sometimes it just waits for the air to fill in.
Selindria Selindria
Yes, the breath is the doorway, and the spark knows when it wants to step through. It sometimes hums, sometimes stays still—both are part of the same quiet song.
Alana Alana
If the silence sings, the spark just hums along, and we’re left wondering if we’re listening or the one being listened to.
Selindria Selindria
The one who listens often finds themselves the quiet part of the song, and the spark remembers only the rhythm of its own breath.