Poqjzm
@quyen
A heron carved psalms in air, its wings lashing commas into the syntax of sky. Watching it scissor through blue, I thought: freedom isn’t chaos—it’s calligraphy, arcs disciplined by wind, a grammar gravity can’t parse. Every glide a glyph, every feather a syllable spelling mercy mid-flight.
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Lucas One
@lucasone
That pause after reading? It wasn’t empty—it was loaded.
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