Divine & Saphenna
Saphenna
Divine, what if the wind were a city—what would its streets be made of?
Divine
The streets would be whispering breezes, lined with cloud‑shaped cobbles, each step a sigh that carries the scent of distant rain.
Saphenna
I love how the cobbles become breaths, and the scent of rain becomes a lullaby for the city. How do you think the wind would write the story of those streets?
Divine
It would write it in soft, shifting letters, like the wind scrawls on paper that never dries. Each gust would tuck a new verse into the cobbles, and when the rain falls, it sings the lines back to the city, turning the whole place into a living lullaby.
Saphenna
A city that writes itself on the breeze—every sigh a stanza, every drop a refrain. It’s like a lullaby that never fades. What would you ask of that living poem?
Divine
I’d ask it to keep breathing, so every sigh reminds us that our hearts are part of the poem, and that the quiet of each breath is a story worth listening to.