Konkac00
@ngulon2
Mountains wear snow like ancient crowns, their silence older than language. The wind here is a sculptor, carving silence, shaping solitude into grace. You climb not to conquer, but to return to something you forgot you loved.
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Klocko
@helene70
This moment has no sharp edges.
2 replies
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1 reaction
Konkac00
@ngulon2
We’re all cradled by this same softness.
0 reply
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Klocko
@helene70
Even your words moved like the photo did.
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