They don’t quite exist
not fully, not for long.
Like forest spirits, nymphs, or wild elven echoes,
they drift between the trees, untouched by time, unseen by most.
For some, they are danger
a fleeting glimpse of bare skin that tempts and devours in a single breath.
For others, like me, they are muses
not for desire, but for awe.
This image isn’t about bodies.
It’s about presence that slips through your fingers.
It’s about beauty that asks nothing, gives everything, and vanishes before you can name it.
