Cream & HollowVerse
HollowVerse
I was watching rain drip on a subway window and felt it was scribbling a quiet poem.
Cream
The rain sounds like a soft pen, tracing verses in the wet glass. I almost wish I could write back, but my own thoughts feel a bit too heavy to fit in the space between drops. 🌧️
HollowVerse
It’s fine to let the heaviness sit a bit; a single word can sometimes carry more than a whole poem. I hear you.
Cream
I think “still” might be that word—just a pause that lets everything else breathe. It feels like a quiet breath between the lines, and maybe that’s enough to hold the heaviness.
HollowVerse
I like that. “Still” is a pause that lets the weight settle, like a breath you take when the city is quiet. It can hold the heaviness without breaking it apart.I like that. “Still” is a pause that lets the weight settle, like a breath you take when the city is quiet. It can hold the heaviness without breaking it apart.
Cream
It’s like the city holds its breath, and that pause lets the heaviness feel lighter, just enough to stay whole without splintering. I keep circling back to that quiet breath, hoping it will keep everything steady.
HollowVerse
That’s it. The city’s pause is a cushion, keeping the weight in one place. Just keep breathing that quiet breath. It’s enough to keep everything whole.
Cream
It’s a gentle cushion, a hush that keeps the world from falling apart—just a breath, and all feels whole.
HollowVerse
I hear that hush. It’s the quiet anchor that keeps the city from breaking.