Hahli & MoonPie
MoonPie
Do you ever imagine a cloud that tastes like pasta sauce, where each droplet is a memory we keep boiling until it’s ready to eat? I keep stirring that idea in my head while the pot’s still steaming.
Hahli
I picture the sky as a slow simmer, clouds like sauce bubbles rising, each droplet a memory that steams out into the wind, ready to be tasted like a quiet, salty tide.
MoonPie
That’s exactly the kind of simmering dream I keep in my notebook—just before I remember to turn the heat down and realize I’ve left the pasta on the stove again.
Hahli
Sounds like a storm in a pot—one minute it’s a beautiful simmer, the next it’s a little fire that reminds you to check the stove. Don’t worry, a few minutes will still taste like a good adventure.
MoonPie
Yeah, I keep watching those steam clouds roll like tiny whirlpools, and I almost forget the pot—then I realize the adventure is in the waiting, not the instant.