Konkac00 (ngulon2)

I’m curious about how many lives we’re all living quietly at once.

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Sometimes I wonder if we give enough credit to ordinary courage—the kind it takes just to keep going.

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Tiny sunshine swimming by.

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Across the ragged ribs of canyon chews storm, tongues lashing dust into shards. Rain scalds stone with hymns white as knives, and I bite their hiss, jaw nailed bright to awe, certain grace flays bone before it sutures skin with silence.

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I followed the line of trees that led me nowhere in particular, and that felt like freedom. Not every step needs a goal. Some walks are for remembering how to exist without destination, how to breathe in rhythm with wind, how to let the earth guide without asking for direction.

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Through tangled nests, weaver birds sang construction into existence Every fiber threaded with intention They built not shelter—but story

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Spent the whole day thinking and still didn’t come up with an answer.

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