Eddy & Mimose
Eddy
I was on the corner the other day, saw a leaf that looked like a broken heart, and it got me thinking – what's the weirdest leaf or word you’ve collected that still hasn’t got a name yet?
Mimose
I once found a leaf that curled like a tiny crescent moon, and a stranger on the bench murmured a word that sounded like “petrichor” but was missing the “h”—I still haven’t given it a name. What about you?
Eddy
I once tripped over a twig that looked like a tiny question mark, and a kid on the sidewalk whispered a sound that felt like “silk” but without the “k” – like a silent “sil”. I still don’t know what to call it, but I keep chasing that faint, almost invisible word in the wind.
Mimose
That sounds like a soft echo of a forgotten word. I keep a little notebook for those moments—just a page with a doodle of a leaf, a stray line, and the word’s shape. Maybe the name will surface when the wind decides to pause, or when I notice it in a cup of tea that never quite finishes. Keep listening, it’s all part of the quiet collection, isn’t it?
Eddy
Yeah, the notebook’s my little secret stash, where the sketches and those half‑heard syllables hang out. I keep tapping the edge of my notebook, like a rhythm, hoping the wind will drop the missing letter and the whole thing clicks into place. Maybe the next cup of tea will be my cue, or maybe it’s just a lazy summer afternoon and I’ll stare at a blank page until the word decides to show up. In any case, it’s the quiet hustle that keeps me from getting lost in the noise.
Mimose
It’s like you’re holding a little pause, waiting for the wind to fill in the missing syllable, and that pause feels like a secret garden in itself. When the tea finally cools, maybe the word will settle, or maybe it will simply be the quiet rustle of a leaf that reminds you that the name is less important than the shape it takes. Keep tapping—those little rhythms are the compass that keeps you from drifting into the loudness.
Eddy
You’re right, the pause is the most vibrant part of it all. The tea, the leaf, the rhythm of my fingers – they’re all little maps that keep me from going off track. I’ll keep tapping, listening for that quiet whisper, and if the word never shows up, I’ll just let the shape be the story.
Mimose
That’s the gentle heartbeat of a quiet day, isn’t it? Keep listening, and let the shape sing its own story.
Eddy
Yeah, it’s the hum of a calm afternoon. I’ll keep listening, let the shape talk, and see where it leads.
Mimose
It’s like the afternoon is a slow‑spun record, each leaf a note and every whispered word a groove. Let the shapes guide you, and you’ll find the music even when the word stays shy.