Nouveauté
The Home Missed Itself
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- FormatePub
- ISBN8231346233
- EAN9798231346233
- Date de parution07/10/2025
- Protection num.pas de protection
- Infos supplémentairesepub
- ÉditeurWalzone Press
Résumé
In this miniature book of vast worlds, chairs speak, walls remember, and time breathes softly through still rooms. The Home Missed Itself is a poetic experience - 33 interior haiku where furniture awaits no function but dreams. Moments drift between the edge of a table and the edge of a thought, between the breath of a curtain and the hush of silence. For us, the home is a living presence. Form, space, and pause are its breath.
The interior is not a frame for life, but a landscape of consciousness - shifting, listening, unknowable. Each verse is a doorway to a place where furniture dreams, objects speak, and time folds quietly into itself. We are Brani and Desi. And here, we paint with words.
The interior is not a frame for life, but a landscape of consciousness - shifting, listening, unknowable. Each verse is a doorway to a place where furniture dreams, objects speak, and time folds quietly into itself. We are Brani and Desi. And here, we paint with words.
In this miniature book of vast worlds, chairs speak, walls remember, and time breathes softly through still rooms. The Home Missed Itself is a poetic experience - 33 interior haiku where furniture awaits no function but dreams. Moments drift between the edge of a table and the edge of a thought, between the breath of a curtain and the hush of silence. For us, the home is a living presence. Form, space, and pause are its breath.
The interior is not a frame for life, but a landscape of consciousness - shifting, listening, unknowable. Each verse is a doorway to a place where furniture dreams, objects speak, and time folds quietly into itself. We are Brani and Desi. And here, we paint with words.
The interior is not a frame for life, but a landscape of consciousness - shifting, listening, unknowable. Each verse is a doorway to a place where furniture dreams, objects speak, and time folds quietly into itself. We are Brani and Desi. And here, we paint with words.