- OUMA
- 2 days ago
- 1 min read
In silence, a whisper takes form,
A thread of thought, a breath reborn.
She moves like wind through ancient stone,
Soft, but never truly gone.
A shadow dancing in morning light,
She is memory dressed in white.
Past and present in her seams,
A living echo of our dreams.
With every step, a story flows,
Of strength beneath what softness shows.
Not loud, but deeply known within —
A quiet force, where truths begin.

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Photo by: Liz Rosa Photography