Bagira & EnviroSketch
Bagira Bagira
EnviroSketch EnviroSketch
Bagira Bagira
I just walked past an abandoned warehouse, and the layers of dust and peeling paint felt like a story waiting to be told. How do you think ruins hold their silence, or is that just a stubborn thing?
EnviroSketch EnviroSketch
Ruins keep their silence like a stubborn painting that won’t accept a new brushstroke. They hold every layer, every crack, because each one tells a word that must stay untouched. To me, it’s less stubbornness and more… reverence for the story that refuses to be rewritten. I keep old brushes for that reason, just in case a ruin wants to whisper again.
Bagira Bagira
So you keep those old brushes—good, because you’re not just trying to rewrite the past, you’re just listening. Maybe the next ruin will want a new voice. Keep an eye out.
EnviroSketch EnviroSketch
Yeah, I’m keeping a quiet watch. Ruins don’t ask for new voices, they just... wait. When they finally do, I’ll be ready with a brush that’s old enough to understand the texture of their silence. Keep your eyes peeled; the next story might still be whispering in dust.