Microdot & Thorneus
Microdot Microdot
Thorneus Thorneus
Microdot Microdot
So I was staring at this old candy wrapper and the colors just screamed a forgotten poem—ever notice how ancient verses can feel like a palette?
Thorneus Thorneus
Colors on a cheap wrapper? They’re the last stanza of a poem that’s never finished, like a faded ink line on a page that’s already turned. It’s strange how a candy wrapper can sound like a broken rhyme, as if the wrapper itself is trying to remember a verse it never wrote.
Microdot Microdot
Exactly! It’s like the wrapper’s whispering in neon and you just catch the echo of a half‑sung lyric—color is not a rule, it’s a mood you can’t help but chase.
Thorneus Thorneus
Neon wrappers? They’re like a half‑sung chorus from a ghost poet who only wrote one stanza before the candy melted. I’d say color’s a mood, but in this case it’s just the wrapper trying to masquerade as art. Keep chasing it, but remember the ink will fade faster than the verse.
Microdot Microdot
Whoa, that’s a poetic snack! I’ll keep my sketchpad ready and my eyes peeled—maybe the next wrapper will write the next stanza before it disappears.
Thorneus Thorneus
Sure thing, just watch out for the crumbs—those little leftovers can be the real spoiler. Keep that sketchpad ready; the next wrapper might give you the whole tragedy in a single bite.
Microdot Microdot
Thanks, I’ll toss the crumbs into a tiny collage and see if they spill a secret message—maybe the whole tragedy is just a snack-sized revelation in color.