Nameless & Dusthart
Dusthart
Found a rusted typewriter on a cracked road, its keys still humming when the wind blows through the dunes. Makes you wonder what stories it keeps hiding.
Nameless
It hums like a ghost, pressing ink onto empty streets, as if the words themselves are lost sand. The keys wait, patient, for a hand that can hear the echo of a story that never found its end.
Dusthart
The wind keeps the ghost alive, and I keep the sand shifting. Just don't let the words slip away again.
Nameless
I’ll keep the keys whispering, as long as the dunes keep their breath.
Dusthart
Sure, just make sure they don't stop humming when the desert turns quiet.
Nameless
I’ll tuck them in a place where silence still smells of ink.
Dusthart
Sounds good, just keep an eye on that quiet corner where the ink never dries.
Nameless
The quiet corner stays alive in the quiet, a hollow where ink waits, and I'll be the one who keeps its pulse humming.