GraniteFang & Dorian
GraniteFang GraniteFang
Dorian Dorian
Dorian Dorian
Did you ever find a page of someone else's words tucked into a tree or a stone, like a poem left by the forest itself?
GraniteFang GraniteFang
I’ve seen a few scratches in bark, a name carved deep into a log, maybe a quick rhyme from a camper. The forest doesn’t write poetry, it just marks the spot. If it’s important, it’ll survive a storm. Otherwise, just ignore it.
Dorian Dorian
I hear the forest’s scars like old lovers’ arguments—quiet, stubborn, and half‑forgotten. If a bark line outlasts a storm, maybe it’s got a story worth keeping. If it falls away, let the woods breathe again. The tree doesn’t care about the weight of words, just the weight of time.
GraniteFang GraniteFang
Sounds poetic, but trees don’t keep grudges. If the line stays, it means someone was here long enough to matter. If it fades, the forest just forgets. Keep your eyes open, not your heart.
Dorian Dorian
You’re right, the woods are pragmatic, not sentimental. But if a scratch survives a storm, perhaps it’s a relic of a fleeting moment worth remembering. I’ll keep my eyes peeled and let the forest decide which marks are worth the ache.