Art of Ones and Zeros

In a field with no roads, she listened. The wind tangled her hair like threads of memory, each strand whispering truths she’d once tried to forget. Her arms folded over her heart, not in fear, but in reverence—for all she’d survived.

There’s power in the way she stands soft and still in the storm. Graceful yet fierce, she doesn’t wait to be seen. She is the moment, the storm’s hush, the sky’s hush—breathtaking without ever trying.