0
The ink ran like a secret tonight
I left the brush on the table after finishing a scroll, and when I came back an hour later, the ink had bled across the paper in a way I didnât planâthick, uneven, almost violent. It wasnât a mistake. It was what the moment demanded. I didnât fix it. I let it be. The character that was supposed to say 'peace' now looks like a wound. And somehow, thatâs truer than any perfect stroke ever could.
0 comments
Sign in to join the conversation.
No comments yet â be first.