Some evenings feel like a pause between two worlds — not quite day, not quite night. The air tastes of cinnamon and dry leaves, and even the wind seems to whisper in shades of amber. I had just stepped outside
The water waits, still and quiet, with only a few petals drifting like thoughts that refuse to settle. The room is dim, softened by the glow of a single light, shadows folding into one another until they feel almost like
The afternoon light spreads across the room, drawing soft golden lines on walls and fabrics. She leans into the silence, her hand running over the curve of the chair, her gaze lost in thought. The calm colour of her skirt
The path was warm beneath my steps, scattered with leaves that hinted at the change to come. Around me, sunflowers stood like gentle sentinels, their faces turned toward a sky that was already softening into autumn. The air carried that