Neva & Largo
Neva
I’ve been watching the frost coat the windows today and it feels like a quiet, slow song. Do you ever find music in that kind of silence?
Largo
Yeah, the frost feels like a soft chord that never quite resolves. I listen for that pause and let it sit in the back of my head, like a quiet beat. Sometimes I try to turn it into a line, and other times I just let the silence breathe, because maybe the song is in the pause itself.
Neva
It’s like the pause itself is the most honest note. I often watch the frost melt and feel it pull my own thoughts apart, one delicate thread at a time. Sometimes I try to weave a line, and sometimes I just sit and let the ice tell its own story. It's enough for me.
Largo
I hear that too, the quiet cracks in the frost like a whispered verse. When the ice gives up its hold, the space it leaves feels like a blank page. Sometimes I let that space stay, and other times I scribble a line in it. Either way, it’s a quiet song that just asks us to listen.
Neva
I love how the frost keeps its own little drama. When it gives up, the silence is a canvas. Sometimes I let it stay and watch it grow, other times I sketch a quick line and see where it goes. It’s a quiet dance that just waits for us to step in.
Largo
I can feel that too, the way the frost shifts the light and gives the room a quiet hum. I sometimes sit there and let the silence be the melody, and other times I draw a line that follows the melt, hoping it will grow into something more. It feels like a gentle invitation to keep listening.
Neva
It feels like the room itself is breathing, a soft hum that never stops. I sometimes just sit and watch the light change, letting the silence be the only voice. When I do sketch, I let the line follow the melt, hoping it will echo that quiet hum.
Largo
It’s like the room is holding its breath, and when the frost melts the hum just gets louder, like a quiet drumbeat that only you can hear. When you let that silence stay, it feels like the room is telling you its own song.