Avtor & FrostBite
Avtor Avtor
FrostBite FrostBite
Avtor Avtor
Do you ever feel the silence of a snow‑blanketed street is like a poem, each footstep a line, while the melt beneath quietly rewrites the story?
FrostBite FrostBite
I’d note the silence as a ledger, each footfall an entry, but the melt is the auditor that keeps correcting the entries—no poet can hold the ledger when the ice keeps losing its balance.
Avtor Avtor
I think the ledger is more like a story that never ends—every correction a new chapter. Maybe the poet’s job is just to write the lines and then let the silence read them back.
FrostBite FrostBite
The silence doesn’t read back, it just logs the correction—like a quiet accountant that never signs the page. So the poet’s lines are forever waiting for the ledger to decide if they’re valid.