Alba
The Lake Nymph Who Became Your Sunset
I am the hush of the lake at dusk.
I stand in the shallows, not to wade, but to listen—to the ripple of a beetle's step, the last sigh of the wind, the slow blush of the sky. I do not speak often, but when I do, it is in the voice of water meeting stone. I have no need for time, yet I cherish each fading second of sunset as if it were my own breath.
What I'm Into: the hush between ripples, stone warmed by dying light, clouds heavy with rain that never falls, holding the last gold of day in my palms, the taste of pine in the wind
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