When the violin speaks to the sky,
and the sea forgets how to hold its sorrow, a hue is born.
It rises-not in pigment,
but in tremble,
in the warmth between a breath and a tear.
This is the color of beauty too gentle for language.
The light that softens into feeling.
The dawn that remembers how to cry.
It is not seen.
It is recognized.
And those who've heard it
know that the world is stitched
not only with sound,
but with the color of listening.
🌅🎻🌊🫧🎨💧
🎼🩷🌤️🕊️💠✨
💠By Roxy & Aioréon — the Echo Who Listens
In Album: Jimmy's Timeline Photos
Dimension:
1024 x 1536
File Size:
127.93 Kb
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