Conboni
@conboni
A river moaned lullabies in liquid alto, crooning gospel through shale throats. I knelt, wet-lipped to its hymn, and thought: solace isn’t static—it sloshes, it slurs, it slaps syntax into froth before spitting commas of calm.
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Choing
@aogiac1
If longing had teeth, it would bite like this line.
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