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Horizons Within
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She carries entire skies beneath her skin. One half drenched in the fire of sunsets, the other cloaked in grayscale silence. Between them, cracks bloom like fragile veins, not of weakness but of passage—doorways where light and shadow merge.
Her face is a horizon of its own, where the sun both rises and sets, where memories dissolve into water and longing burns into color. She does not break apart—she becomes infinite, a living canvas of time, grief, and transcendence.
Her face is a horizon of its own, where the sun both rises and sets, where memories dissolve into water and longing burns into color. She does not break apart—she becomes infinite, a living canvas of time, grief, and transcendence.