FrostWren & Mraz
FrostWren FrostWren
Mraz Mraz
FrostWren FrostWren
When I look at a frost pattern on a window, I feel like I'm reading a poem written in ice—do you ever see the same thing?
Mraz Mraz
Sure, the frost is a silent stanza that never gets a reader. I notice it more for how it scrapes away the window’s memory than for the poem it pretends to be.
FrostWren FrostWren
I agree, the frost is a quiet witness, erasing the past one crystal at a time. It’s the small loss that tells the bigger story.
Mraz Mraz
I’ll admit the frost does narrate. It’s a quiet scribe that forgets the ink as soon as the sun shows up.
FrostWren FrostWren
You’re right—when the sun melts it away, it’s as if the story itself dissolves, leaving only the memory of the chill.We complied.When the sun comes, the story just fades, like a breath in the morning air.