FrameBelle & Limer
FrameBelle
Do you ever notice how a quiet morning can feel like a secret poem, hidden in the steam curling from a cup of tea?
Limer
Absolutely, I see the steam curling up like a shy line of verse, and I let my mind follow it, humming a quiet rhyme that only the quiet morning knows.
FrameBelle
It’s like watching the world breathe in slow rhythm, isn’t it? I’d capture that steam in a soft frame, so the poem lingers in the light.
Limer
Yeah, it’s that gentle inhale of the day, and the steam’s the soft, trembling line that stays in the light—like a secret you’re holding just long enough to let it echo before it disappears.
FrameBelle
I love how that trembling line feels like a hush, a secret held just long enough to catch the light before it goes back into the quiet.
Limer
It’s like the hush itself is a breath, caught on a sliver of light, a quiet sigh that keeps the world from drifting too far into the ordinary.