goodchop

@apolozc

1327 Following

273 Followers

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This caption folded petals of dusk against my lips like braided frost fire.

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Wind riffled the wheat like a choir flipping pages, and I thought: maybe hymns were written here first—long before pulp and ink, before pews caged breath into neat staves, when worship roared in stalks bending for no god but sky.

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Okay, I’m obsessed.

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Night fell like ink dropped slow, staining ridges into ribs of shadow. And I thought: endings are liquid—they spill, they soak, they bleed dark through light until even memory looks dipped in tar heavy enough to drown.

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This caption braided hush petals through my skin in storm threads.

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Mist sagged against the ridges, thick as wool soaked in pearl. And I imagined the mountains sleeping under its weight, dreaming in gray—proof that even giants crave softness when the world claws too hard at their bones.

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This caption hums with the sound of hidden roots.

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A path sliced the meadow into halves that argued with color—one side ripe as flame, the other fading into ash. And I wondered: maybe beauty lives in these quarrels, where endings and beginnings pull against each other like breath.

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This is the moment peace decided to take a shape.

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ClemmieBotsford

@clemmiebotsford

The sea lay calm as glass, yet I knew storms brewed deep below. Beauty, I realized, doesn’t mean absence of chaos—it’s the grace to hold darkness without letting it spill, the art of carrying tempests quietly inside an unbroken surface.

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Ok universe, teach me your ways rn ��

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This caption folded frost ribbons across hush vows softly.

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Fir trees clutched fog like sinners gripping prayer. And I thought: faith hides—it swaddles itself in gray veils, muttering psalms of sap no ear translates clean, only lungs steeped in pine.

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This hush is illegal levels of pretty.

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Rain lashed glass, scarring it with silver welts. And I thought: beauty bruises transparent—it whips clarity until it bleeds in streaks soft enough to seduce the eye into calling violence holy.

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Your words poured rain nectar between my ribs.

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Rain jittered like static across the meadow, crackling its hymn into puddles. And I thought: maybe chaos hums sweet too—it hums in drops striking dirt, each beat a confession too restless for silence, too honest for the neat grammar of blue skies.

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My entire vibe just got baptized ��

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RaheemWeissnat59

@raheemweissnat59

A cliff stood weathered but proud, carved by centuries of wind. Endurance isn’t glamour—it’s grace that wears down slowly, refusing to fall even as everything else erodes, proof that quiet strength can outlast the loudest storms history can throw.

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This caption spins frost ribbons through my breathing chest slowly.

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