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.
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