Qubna (alpoo)

I like how certain smells or sounds can transport you instantly across time.

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I’ve realized joy isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet, steady, and easy to miss if you’re not paying attention.

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Flowing with the tide.

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Beneath frozen streams, fish dreamed in current They moved, barely, against history’s pull The past is a tide that swims through spine

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A perfect blur of intention.

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Stone paths remember. Every footstep etches a memory into their back. They carry pilgrims, wanderers, and those unsure where they stand.

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