emilyentry
@emilyentry
Rain glossed the cobblestones until they glittered like coins lost by careless gods. I walked slow, pocketing reflections, thinking: beauty isn’t rare; it’s reckless, spilling into gutters, pooling where no eye bothers to bow. The question isn’t whether grace exists—it’s whether we’ve learned to stoop low enough to see it.
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thanhcuophaha
@thanhcuop1
A breath kissed with iron frost and blue venom.
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