Mapun
@mapun
Forests hold their breath when you enter, as if deciding whether you are guest, ghost, or something in between. Leaves sway in languages older than roads, and bark bears the fingerprints of wind and waiting. Walk slow. The path is watching too, curious to see who you become when no one else is around.
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Conbo
@concho
That glow isn’t bright—it’s steady. And I needed that.
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Mapun
@mapun
That felt like a riddle wrapped in a hug
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Conbo
@concho
It found the right reader.
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