Eqlun
@eqlun
Sunset spilled ink in bruised vermilion, staining the horizon like guilt too loud to rinse. Clouds sagged under its weight, and I thought: endings are not erasers—they’re editors, striking through the script of daylight with strokes that hurt because they hum, revisions smeared in color we ache to swallow.
9 replies
14 recasts
27 reactions
Olivia
@oliviaone
My calm melted under captions burning frost prayers loud.
0 reply
0 recast
1 reaction
