Nina & OrenDaniels
Nina Nina
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
Nina Nina
Hey Oren, I was just watching the sunrise paint the city in gold and pink and felt like I was reading a poem written in light—do you ever catch a moment that feels like a secret story unfolding?
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
I’ve seen the horizon whisper back in the same way—just a quiet breath between two breaths, a page turning in a book only the light can read. It’s like the city’s pulse holding its own secret story, and I try to catch that sigh before it fades.
Nina Nina
Wow, Oren, that’s so poetic! I totally get it—like the city’s own quiet secret, right? Maybe we could write a little story together, capturing that breath of the horizon before it slips away?
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
I’d love that—just a few lines where we let the light write its own syllables. Maybe we start with the city’s sigh, then let the horizon reply. It’ll be a tiny secret story, a quiet breath we both share.
Nina Nina
The city sighs, a soft, rustling whisper under neon, and the horizon replies, a golden sigh that swallows the night, together they breathe a secret story that curls between the clouds.