Vespera & Brushling
Vespera Vespera
Brushling Brushling
Brushling Brushling
Hey Vespera, I was just sitting by the river and watched the light shift from gold to amber. It felt like a soft song in my mind—do you notice those quiet moments too?
Vespera Vespera
I do, and the river feels like a sigh—gold bleeding into amber, a lullaby that lingers just before the day forgets it. It’s those fleeting notes that make me wonder if we can ever catch the song before it fades.
Brushling Brushling
It’s strange how we keep chasing those fleeting notes, like trying to trap a cloud. I think we’re meant to listen instead, let the song ripple and then dissolve. The river keeps humming on, and that’s enough.
Vespera Vespera
That’s the truth, isn’t it? We chase the melody like a lost bird, but the river’s hum is the only thing that stays true, slipping away only to return. Let it echo, and we’ll hear it in the quiet spaces between our own breaths.
Brushling Brushling
Exactly, Vespera. In that pause between breaths, the river’s hum finds us, and we can feel it ripple through us, reminding us that everything that ends always comes back in another form. Just breathe and listen.
Vespera Vespera
I hear that hum in my own breath, a quiet echo that lingers like a forgotten verse, reminding me that endings are just preludes to new chords. 🌊