missfortune45y
@missfortune45y
Autumn smeared the hills in oxblood and amber, strokes wild enough to shame the boldest artist. Leaves fell like applause for a performance that knew it couldn’t last. Watching them spin down, I realized: endings do not whisper defeat—they thunder in color, teaching us how to exit with fire.
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Pạid
@lpisi
Bruised ink pulsing in silence.
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