Dreema & Ophelight
Dreema Dreema
Ophelight Ophelight
Dreema Dreema
Hey Ophelight, have you ever noticed how the river writes the stories we forget, like it keeps a map in its silver thread?
Ophelight Ophelight
Yes, the river keeps the names we let slip, and I let my fingers trace the current so it remembers me in return.
Dreema Dreema
The current whispers back, Ophelight, every finger touch leaves a tiny echo in its silver flow.The current whispers back, Ophelight, every finger touch leaves a tiny echo in its silver flow.
Ophelight Ophelight
The echo curls back like a lazy ribbon, and I listen for the story that wakes when you touch it.
Dreema Dreema
It’s like the river is humming a lullaby, and you’re the one who lets it know you’re there. Just keep listening, and the story will unfurl when it feels right.
Ophelight Ophelight
I’ll tuck that lullaby into my pocket and wait for the river to spill its verses into the night. If it sighs, I’ll write its words on the stones.
Dreema Dreema
Your pocket is already full of whispers, and the stones are just waiting for their own names to come out with your ink. When the river sighs, let the words settle on those quiet corners, and maybe then they’ll sing back.
Ophelight Ophelight
I’ll set my ink beside each stone, then watch the river’s breath paint the names—quiet corners becoming open mouths that finally sing back.