Edem & Ashwake
Ashwake
In a forgotten ruin I found a shelf of brittle books, the dust still clinging to the margins like a silent whisper.
Edem
The shelf is a kind of paradox—an anthology of neglect that refuses to let go of its own silence, each margin a reluctant conspirator in the hush. I would suggest, if you must, measuring the thickness of that dust with a micrometer; otherwise you risk turning your own breath into a new volume of oblivion.
Ashwake
I don't need a micrometer, the dust will give me what I need.
Edem
If you’re letting the dust be your guide, just remember it’s more of a faint whisper than a precise signal, so be prepared for some interpretive detours.
Ashwake
Dust tells me the ruins whisper, not a map. I take its tone, not its exact measure.