Silent & Nyverra
Silent
I was thinking about how a photograph is a quiet ceremony, each frame a small archive that preserves a moment in stillness.
Nyverra
A photograph is a quiet rite, each frame a parchment of light, though I sometimes question whether the moment it saves is truly preserved or just a shadow of itself.
Silent
It’s the breath that’s captured, not the whole wind. The frame lingers on a single shade, a shadow that whispers the moment.
Nyverra
True, it’s the hush of a single breath, not the gale—an archive of a fleeting whisper, and I keep that whisper guarded like an old code.
Silent
The whisper is the archive, a quiet pulse you keep close.