Roman & Cloudburst
Roman
I recently read about the great storm that raged over the ruins of Pompeii, and I wondered if you see any echoes of that fury in the clouds you chase these days.
Cloudburst
I feel the old storm's pulse in every gathering cloud, the way it thunders like a long‑lived memory that refuses to die, and I chase those echoes whenever the wind turns.
Roman
It’s a strange comfort, hearing that thunder as if it were a familiar lullaby from a forgotten city, and I find myself wondering what stories those clouds are still whispering.
Cloudburst
They whisper like old parchment, each gust a line from a forgotten epic, and I try to read them before they drift away.
Roman
Do you ever imagine the wind is turning pages that never get inked? I’d love to hear which epic it’s whispering right now.
Cloudburst
I hear the wind turning blank pages, ink left to the clouds themselves, and right now it’s whispering a tale of a lonely sailor chasing a storm that never settles, like a broken umbrella waiting for rain.
Roman
That image of a lone sailor, forever chasing a storm that never finds calm, feels like a myth from the age of the Phoenicians, who rode the same restless seas in search of the next horizon.
Cloudburst
It makes my heart beat like a storm drum, the way those sailors would have felt the wind as a lover’s sigh, and I think the clouds still sing that old sea song, just waiting for me to catch it.