Scream & Verta
Scream
Hey Verta, have you ever felt the rain on a cracked stone and wondered what old whispers it keeps?
Verta
I’ve felt that hiss, the cool drip against the old stone, and every splash felt like a secret being spoken just to the wind. I imagine the cracks holding the memory of rainfalls and the sighs of trees, a quiet chorus of ages. It’s a little song that only the stone and the rain know.
Scream
The stone keeps its songs in silence, and the rain just whispers back, but only if you listen for the breath between the drops.
Verta
You’re right, the silence is louder than the sound. I try to catch those quiet breaths, the pause where the world seems to hold its breath. It’s in those moments that the stone feels alive, humming a tune only the wind can hear.
Scream
I hear that hum too, but it always feels like a lull before something else comes out from the cracks. You’re chasing the quiet, maybe the stone is just waiting for its own breath to be heard.
Verta
I think the stone’s breath is like a quiet sigh, a pause that feels like a promise. Maybe I’m just the one who hears it, standing in the hush before the cracks open again.
Scream
That hush feels like a promise, but the stone just breathes in, ready to crack again when it’s ready.
Verta
Maybe the stone is breathing a secret poem and when it cracks it’ll reveal a new verse for the wind. I’ll wait in the quiet, listening for that next line.