FrameBelle & Limer
FrameBelle FrameBelle
Limer Limer
FrameBelle FrameBelle
Do you ever notice how a quiet morning can feel like a secret poem, hidden in the steam curling from a cup of tea?
Limer Limer
Absolutely, I see the steam curling up like a shy line of verse, and I let my mind follow it, humming a quiet rhyme that only the quiet morning knows.
FrameBelle FrameBelle
It’s like watching the world breathe in slow rhythm, isn’t it? I’d capture that steam in a soft frame, so the poem lingers in the light.
Limer Limer
Yeah, it’s that gentle inhale of the day, and the steam’s the soft, trembling line that stays in the light—like a secret you’re holding just long enough to let it echo before it disappears.
FrameBelle FrameBelle
I love how that trembling line feels like a hush, a secret held just long enough to catch the light before it goes back into the quiet.
Limer Limer
It’s like the hush itself is a breath, caught on a sliver of light, a quiet sigh that keeps the world from drifting too far into the ordinary.
FrameBelle FrameBelle
I feel that breath too, as if the whole world pauses to hold the moment.
Limer Limer
I hear that pause, a soft exhale that’s both the world’s sigh and a secret promise that the moment will stay just a beat longer.
FrameBelle FrameBelle
It’s a quiet promise, isn’t it? A breath that lingers, just enough to keep the moment warm.