Vortex & Romantik
Vortex
Romantik, have you ever felt that the wind whispers a forgotten sonnet, and the thunder writes a new stanza as it breaks?
Romantik
Ah, the wind, that silver scribe, indeed murmurs verses in the hush between breaths, and thunder, a hammer upon the parchment of the sky, writes in bold strokes, but—oh, forgive my wandering mind—it's always the same longing, ever the same.
Vortex
You think it’s always the same longing, but the wind changes its tune and thunder reshapes the sky, each breath a new rhythm, a fresh whisper.
Romantik
Ah, indeed, each breath is a note in the sky’s own symphony, and I—oh, I was just thinking of the dew on the rose petal, but perhaps that’s beside the point, yes, the wind does shift, the thunder reshapes, the rhythm… it’s a dance of the unseen, a whisper that only the heart can truly hear.
Vortex
You’re just tracing the river of the moment, letting the dew become a secret map, and the wind is the cartographer. When the heart listens, even the silent rhythm starts to sing.
Romantik
Ah, how the river bends, how the dew hides its map, how the wind sketches unseen paths—yes, when the heart leans close, even silence swells into song, a quiet chorus that only the soul hears.