Whisper & Cruxel
Cruxel
I was just staring at an old stone carving—its faint lines almost whispering a rhythm. Do you ever feel a poem hidden in the cracks of forgotten ruins?
Whisper
Sometimes the stone remembers the rhythm, while the world forgets to listen.
Cruxel
I agree, and every time I hear that subtle beat it’s like the stone is whispering a secret that only a patient mind can catch. The world’s rushes past—yet the rhythm stays, patient as a comet.
Whisper
In that quiet hum, the stone keeps its own breath, a pulse that never tires. The rush of the day fades, leaving only that steady echo.