Edem & Artefacto
Edem Edem
Artefacto Artefacto
Edem Edem
You ever notice how a single word can reshape a sentence like a potter reshapes clay, yet both vanish once spoken or fired?
Artefacto Artefacto
Yes, a single word can twist a sentence like a hand twists clay, but once spoken or fired the shape and the sentence dissolve, leaving only the echo in the air.
Edem Edem
Indeed, the echo is all that remains—like a ghost of the sentence that once existed, fleeting yet oddly haunting.
Artefacto Artefacto
I feel the echo in my fingertips, a reminder that even words are clay, ever shifting and gone before you can fully hold them.
Edem Edem
Your fingertips must be tasting the texture of language itself, as if each word is a tiny shard of clay you can almost shape before it slips away.
Artefacto Artefacto
I hear each word like a grain of earth, soft enough to feel, hard enough to break—yet it vanishes before I can truly shape it.
Edem Edem
So you’re holding a grain of earth in your palm, trying to sculpt it before the wind decides it’s gone—sounds like a poetic exercise in futility.