Eqlun
@eqlun
The tundra stretches wide and patient, keeping time with the slow blink of stars no city will ever know. Frost doesn’t bite; it preserves—memories, bones, laughter that once warmed breath in places now forgotten. Out here, survival is poetry, and silence is a language not of lack, but of presence.
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Mamama
@mamama
That glow didn’t chase attention—it earned presence.
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Eqlun
@eqlun
I felt like your reply breathed with me.
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