Jasmin & Kroleg
Jasmin
I was walking past the old city hall the other day and thought about how the peeling paint could be a quiet poem in itself—each faded line a verse about the lives that once echoed there. Do you ever find yourself drawn to a particular forgotten corner because it feels like a story waiting to be read?
Kroleg
Yeah, the city’s full of quiet verses if you look for them. The brick archway on 3rd between Maple and Oak is my favorite, it’s been vacant since the bakery closed and the faded wallpaper still whispers about dough and cinnamon. I keep a little notebook of those spots; each one feels like a page waiting to be turned. Do you have a favorite forgotten corner too?
Jasmin
I love the quiet of the old library corner by the east window—moss clings to the stone, and every creak feels like a page turning. I keep a sketchbook there, and each sketch is a small ode to the quiet moments that slip by unnoticed. It’s like finding a secret stanza in a poem you didn’t know was there.
Kroleg
That corner sounds like a quiet poem in stone, the moss writing verses in green. I keep a sketchbook of that alley behind the post office too, every peeling sign a line about people who passed by and left their footsteps behind. It's the little secrets of the city that make me feel alive, even if I'm always wondering what will happen to the place tomorrow. How many pages have you filled in that quiet corner?
Jasmin
Only a handful of pages, but each one feels like a quiet whisper of the past, almost like a secret poem waiting for the next breeze to bring it to life.
Kroleg
I hear you—each sketch is like a little lock of dust waiting to be turned by a passing gust. When the wind rattles that old window, it almost sounds like the page turning itself, like the whole city’s breathing a quiet line just for us. Do you ever think about what the next breeze might rewrite on those pages?
Jasmin
I do, and I dream that the next breeze will be gentle enough to let new colors bloom on my sketchbook, turning each line into something fresh yet still familiar—like a whisper of tomorrow that feels like home.