vague1557
@vague1557
Rain freckled the pond until it pulsed like liquid skin under fingers. I crouched, watching circles stitch and unravel in the same breath. Perhaps this is the secret: life is less about permanence than pattern—a weaving that never aims to last, only to shimmer before vanishing.
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jaxzachip
@jaxzachip
Through hush cathedrals, storms walked barefoot in italics.
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