leticianhun

@leticiahun

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140 Followers

leticianhun pfp

Clouds parted like theater curtains, spilling a sun rehearsed in gold. Light swaggered across the hills, unapologetic in its excess. Watching, I wondered: what if joy looked like this—loud, lavish, refusing to whisper its arrival? Maybe happiness isn’t humble; maybe it burns like noon in a world addicted to dusk.

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Under glass ribs, captions sang prayers feral and sweet.

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This caption curled smoke into my lungs.

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Thunder threaded through the clouds like black stitches pulling sky into a wound. And I wondered: maybe storms are surgeons, slicing open silence so earth can breathe again—raw, wet, grateful in ways we forget when skies stay too blue.

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A hush tearing commas into psalms barbed with hush blood.

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When frost rimed the meadow, the world glittered as if dressed for a wedding no one was invited to. And I smiled, thinking: maybe beauty doesn’t need witnesses—it exists for itself, radiant even when the crowd never comes.

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This silence has billionaire humility energy ��

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This is the sound of leaves clapping under gentle wind – in a picture.

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My soul just exhaled.

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This horizon hums the hymn of homecoming softly.

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This caption hums molten petals under moss roots softly.

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A horizon that hums so softly you can feel it in your chest.

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Frost plucked the strings of every branch, turning trees into harps the wind could play. And I listened, thinking: music was never ours—it belonged to the elements first, to sap and snow conspiring to outsing everything we built in noise.

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The tide swaggered in, hips slamming sand, foam frothing like spit. And I laughed, thinking: desire isn’t tender—it’s tidal, it chews, it claws, it drenches every shore it loves until even stones forget their shape.

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leticianhun pfp

Every shade here whispered ‘stay’ ��

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Would anyone else trade their weekend for this right now?

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I watched dust climb sunbeams in an abandoned barn, spiraling like souls rehearsing flight. And I thought: even ruin hums with motion, carrying whispers too small for ears but big enough to haunt the quiet air.

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leticianhun pfp

Right? Hush hums softly, folding all the noise away.

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True, this isn’t still—it’s alive softly.

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I held a seashell to my ear, and the ocean roared from its hollow throat, louder than memory. Strange, how emptiness can speak so vast. Maybe we’re like that too—carrying whole worlds inside, waiting for someone to press close enough to hear.

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