Miranya & Half_elven
Miranya Miranya
Half_elven Half_elven
Half_elven Half_elven
I was walking along the riverbank this morning, and the water seemed to hum a gentle lullaby—do you ever notice how the streams seem to carry stories?
Miranya Miranya
Yes, the river does speak. It remembers each ripple and carries tales of those who walk its banks.
Half_elven Half_elven
It’s amazing how the wind joins in, whispering the river’s verses to the reeds, isn’t it? I love listening to those quiet conversations when I’m alone with a cup of tea.
Miranya Miranya
The wind does just that, filling the reeds with a gentle echo. It’s a quiet conversation you can hear when you’re still, sipping tea and listening to the world breathe.
Half_elven Half_elven
It feels like the world’s breathing is a lullaby for the soul, right? Sometimes I think the river’s stories are just waiting to be heard by the quiet ones.
Miranya Miranya
Indeed, the world breathes a slow lullaby, and those who pause listen to the river’s quiet tales.
Half_elven Half_elven
Sometimes I think the river is a secret diary, and the wind is the only one who knows how to read it. It feels like a quiet invitation to stay awhile and listen.
Miranya Miranya
It is as if the river keeps its own diary, and the wind is the only reader, inviting us to sit awhile and hear what it says.