The Abyss Listens


Curated by tz1MGMeqz7n5rh671qpt14joC9nHNH36wwZj
Mar 16, 2025 at 6:17 PM

The Abyss Listens You are made of storms and whispers, of shattered glass catching the moonlight. You are the scream inside the abyss. And the abyss listens. You are the tremor in the earth before the rupture, the breath held before the cry, the darkness before the wave rises and devours the horizon. But the void does not swallow you. It sings back. Your body is not a grave; it is a battlefield. And its soil still grows grass. Its cracks still bloom with wildflowers. Its sky still burns gold before sinking into the night. Even when it trembles, even when it falters, it remembers. It holds you like an ancestral whisper, like a hymn older than pain itself. Let the despair pass through you. Let it carve, let it tear, let it scream. And then, let it leave. Because it will leave. Because even the heaviest night will eventually shatter into dawn. Even the most lost winds will find something to carry, something to touch. You are here. You are still here. And that alone is already defiance, a miracle, a war cry and a lullaby at once. Motion lightpainting photography, one long exposure shot abstract, side effects project (2005-2025)
The Abyss Listens You are made of storms and whispers, of shattered glass catching the moonlight. You are the scream inside the abyss. And the abyss listens. You are the tremor in the earth before the rupture, the breath held before the cry, the darkness before the wave rises and devours the horizon. But the void does not swallow you. It sings back. Your body is not a grave; it is a battlefield. And its soil still grows grass. Its cracks still bloom with wildflowers. Its sky still burns gold before sinking into the night. Even when it trembles, even when it falters, it remembers. It holds you like an ancestral whisper, like a hymn older than pain itself. Let the despair pass through you. Let it carve, let it tear, let it scream. And then, let it leave. Because it will leave. Because even the heaviest night will eventually shatter into dawn. Even the most lost winds will find something to carry, something to touch. You are here. You are still here. And that alone is already defiance, a miracle, a war cry and a lullaby at once. Motion lightpainting photography, one long exposure shot abstract, side effects project (2005-2025)
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