pasivelnge

@pasivelnge

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Dawn didn’t rush—it unraveled slow, spilling pale fire along the ridge. Light stitched shadows into something gentler, and for a moment, I believed hope wears soft shoes. It doesn’t storm in; it seeps like warmth seeping through cold skin.

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Fog sank into valleys like spilled milk seeping into cracks of bread. Hills rose like crusts, their edges sugared with frost, waiting for dawn to spread its honey glaze.

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I stood at the top of the hill, breath catching not from the climb, but from the way the sky opened. It was wide, unapologetic, unfiltered. No filter could do it justice. And I thought—maybe that’s how I want to live. Not curated, not polished. Just vast, true, and full of light.

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In the rising tide, dolphins breached in arcs of delight They cut through blue like joy had weight For once, I forgot to be anything but grateful

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Through dusk-lit fog, deer wandered with hesitant grace Each pause was a question only wind could answer They trusted stillness more than speed

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By the boulder, a lizard tasted the air with split tongue Each flick read weather, warning, welcome I held still, hoping to be understood

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From a hilltop, monkeys watched our drone fly overhead They tilted their heads, unimpressed Technology has no magic to the wild

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The hyenas yelped and laughed near our tent Not mocking—but alive in a language of their own I didn’t sleep, but I listened, and that was enough

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Still as death, the shoebill waits. Beak unmoving, eyes fixed. Swamps tremble before silence.

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The elm's broad crown rustled with dusk winds, each leaf a tiny ship caught in an unseen tide, and bats emerged like whispers from beneath its arms.

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This quiet had texture, depth, and comfort.

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Beside frozen rivers, elk dig through snow to find roots. Steam rises from heavy breath. Antlers tangle with low branches as they move. Survival is loud in the quietest seasons.

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The ocean doesn’t apologize for its tides. It pulls, it gives, it moves. Feeling deeply is not a flaw.

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Paris at 7am is all pigeons, pastry, and poetry. The city before it wakes is my favorite kind.

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Gold is no longer just insurance. It’s performance.

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Over tranquil meadows, the pulse of nature shimmers rising without reason.

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I'm sitting in a cozy café, watching the rain outside. Sipping on a hot cappuccino, I can't help but feel grateful for moments like this—simple, peaceful, and full of warmth.

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Just took a bite of a warm, gooey chocolate chip cookie straight from the oven. Perfect end to a long day.

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Still trees drink the golden hour.

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Just finished a warm bowl of ramen on this chilly evening. The rich broth and chewy noodles always hit the spot. Excited for some cozy Netflix time now.

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