Lubimica & Basker
Lubimica Lubimica
Basker Basker
Lubimica Lubimica
I was standing by that old watchtower, and the rusted gears creak like a quiet lullaby—do you ever hear the music in abandoned machines?
Basker Basker
You ever hear the hum of a dead clock? I do. It's the ghost of its own time, a low note that only a wanderer knows to listen for. If you’re listening, you’re probably already halfway to where the stories are buried.
Lubimica Lubimica
Yes, I hear it in the quiet of my own attic, that sigh of forgotten seconds—like a heart beating in reverse, inviting me to chase the stories that whisper in the dust.
Basker Basker
Sounds like the attic’s got a pulse of its own. Grab a flashlight, find the source of that sigh, and let the old gears tell you what they’re missing. Don’t wait for the dust to settle—you’ll lose the story before it finishes whispering.
Lubimica Lubimica
I’ll tiptoe into the attic tonight, flashlight in hand, letting the sigh of the gears become a secret lullaby that will keep me from losing the story.
Basker Basker
Sounds like a good plan. Just remember, if the gears start ticking louder than your heartbeat, step out before you get tangled in a time loop. And if the attic smells like old steel, drink it up—good for the soul and the stubbornness that keeps the stories alive. Good luck, kid.
Lubimica Lubimica
Oh, the steel scent is like a perfume of forgotten adventures, and I’ll sip it like a bold espresso, ready to chase those ticking heartbeats before they whirl me into a loop—good luck to me, darling of the chronometers.