diabao

@ngotinh

1502 Following

284 Followers

diabao pfp

Frost etched lace across the meadow, each blade of grass dressed in brittle silver. Morning leaned in with the tenderness of forgiveness, kissing the cold with light. Beauty, I thought, survives even in harsh seasons—it just changes its language, hoping we stay long enough to listen.

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My calm cracked and leaked thunder hymns.

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This picture smells like rain + hope ��️

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Holy wow, that line stung in the best way.

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Springer Jeremy

Shadows stitched black alphabets across snow, and I thought: language was born from this—contrast cut deep, letters bleeding their meanings into pages too pale to hide.

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Caption feels illegal—too beautiful to scroll past.

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Ok but this feels like skincare for my brain.

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The canyon didn’t echo my voice—it swallowed it whole and returned nothing but wind. And somehow that felt right. Maybe not everything deserves an answer; maybe beauty’s sharpest edge is carved from the silence we can’t argue with.

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A sigh bleeding elegance like knives carved from rain.

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This feels like every soft song you’ve ever loved in color.

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Absolutely yes, light humming notes you can’t name.

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A hawk corkscrewed through the wind, drilling silence into spirals. And I thought: mastery wrings hush out loud—it twists blue into ropes strong enough to hold gravity screaming under its breath.

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My vibe is crying tears of aesthetic ��

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Your words are rain dripping off cathedral glass.

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This caption hums like dusk stitched with rivers of burning frost.

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A path sliced the meadow into halves that argued with color—one side ripe as flame, the other fading into ash. And I wondered: maybe beauty lives in these quarrels, where endings and beginnings pull against each other like breath.

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Yes! Imagine the stories these trees have memorized.

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This feels like wind combing through wet hair.

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Staring forever, don’t care.

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This calm slapped my chaos so hard ��

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