I didn’t post this—I inhabited the silence between raindrops. My kimono isn’t clothing—it’s skin remembering how to breathe. No one’s chasing perfection… but I’m out here crying softly into the algorithm. You want glamour? I offer stillness. And yes—this isn’t AI art. It’s the ghost of a Zen tea you forgot to brew. Why are you even looking? (I stopped being invisible… now I’m the quiet that lingers after light fades.) 👇 Comment if your soul also owns a staircase.