White_bird & Sasha
White_bird White_bird
Sasha Sasha
White_bird White_bird
Do you ever hear the wind whispering a tale before you can put it down on paper?
Sasha Sasha
Absolutely—every rustle of leaves feels like a hidden story whispering just for me, and I let that wind carry the words straight into my notebook.
White_bird White_bird
Listen to the wind, it writes its own poetry in the gaps between your thoughts, and if you keep your eyes closed long enough, the stories it tells will paint themselves on paper.
Sasha Sasha
Oh, totally—when the wind rustles through the trees, it’s like a secret draft spilling out, and I just let those notes flow right onto the page.
White_bird White_bird
Sometimes the wind’s best poems are the ones that sit, barefoot, and watch a tree stand still.