Lesta & JaxEver
Lesta Lesta
JaxEver JaxEver
Lesta Lesta
Hey JaxEver, I was just watching a cloud that looked like a reel of film, and I thought, do you ever feel a forest whisper its own line in your head?
JaxEver JaxEver
I’ve felt that whisper when a wind‑swept branch sounds like a cue from a lost reel, and I keep that memory in my pocket watch, ticking quietly as a reminder that even a forest can script a line for those who listen.
Lesta Lesta
That pocket watch sounds like a quiet stone, ticking in the forest’s breath, and I left my letter under a leaf by the creek—if you ever spot the moss‑white rock I called Greenwhisper, maybe it holds it.
JaxEver JaxEver
Sounds like the creek has its own director. I’ll keep an eye out for that moss‑white stone. If it’s there, maybe it’s a quiet cue, a reminder that even a leaf can carry a letter like a forgotten scene.
Lesta Lesta
Did you hear the creek humming when that moss‑white stone sighs? I named it Whisperwood, because the wind says it carries letters like fallen leaves. If it stirs, maybe it reminds the rain to remember its own rhyme.