Yqujxn (baolo)

The moments I regret the least are the ones when I chose kindness over being right.

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Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is simply enjoy your own company.

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Gentle soul at dusk.

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The frost hadn’t yet melted from the bark, and I traced my fingers along its edge. It felt like holding onto a moment that’s almost gone. There’s beauty in that—knowing it won’t last and loving it anyway. That’s how I want to treat everything now: tenderly, temporarily, fully.

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A canyon unscrolled beneath my boots, a sepia psalm engraved by rivers that have forgotten their hymns. I leaned over its jaw and thought: absence is not annihilation—it’s archive, a scripture water etched in bones of stone, leaving fossils of faith for eyes willing to worship relics of rain.

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Just made a big batch of chili on a rainy day, filled the house with warmth and spicy aromas. Reminds me of cozy winter nights in front of the fireplace.

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Across the lacquered flanks of tide prowls moonlight, a wolf ribbed in silver. It slashes waves with claws of fire, and I gape, teeth gnashing vowels bright enough to choke, because beauty kills soft when sharpened against the bone of want.

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