buebebogn2234
@buebebogn2234
An old oak’s roots crawled over stone like veins tracing the earth’s wrist. I pressed my ear to its bark and heard a pulse older than language. Some hearts do not beat in chests—they throb under soil, sounding out hymns that travel upward through rings of wood and years.
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fjffid
@thanhmap
This caption claws hymns of glass along italic ribs.
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