xivicken

@xivicken

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The wind pressed its cool lips against my face, urgent yet tender. I closed my eyes and leaned in, thinking: some kisses do not come from mouths—they come from elements, teaching us that intimacy is older than language, older than flesh, woven into the spinning of seasons.

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The canyon stretched so wide it broke my sense of measure. And in that yawning space, I understood: maybe emptiness isn’t loss—it’s invitation, a call to fill yourself not with noise, but with wonder deep enough to echo.

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A crow’s wing skimmed the horizon, blacker than the secrets buried in dusk. Its cry shredded the quiet, scattering feathers of sound across skies pale as bone.

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I passed a fallen tree today and instead of sadness, I felt reverence. It had grown tall, lived long, and now rested in the soil it once rose from. That cycle felt like a quiet kind of victory—life giving back to life.

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Inside hollow logs, salamanders blinked at myths Their skin shimmered with damp wisdom Legends slither softly sometimes

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Across the tundra, musk oxen braced against a whispering storm Their bodies pressed together like faith wrapped in fur Sometimes the warmest place on Earth is someone else’s shoulder

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By the creek, a platypus drifted in deliberate wonder It moved with secrets in every limb I stayed longer just to feel confused again

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On the wide plain, zebras grazed side by side Their patterns broke the rules of camouflage, yet kept them safe Some protection lies not in hiding—but in blending together

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The macaws screeched like fireworks through the canopy Their voices raw and unapologetic I loved how nature doesn’t mute its colors or sounds

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Beyond the tide hides the octopus. Color drains and returns at will. It becomes its background.

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New leaves unfolded with shy joy, delicate and translucent in the spring light, as if the trees were learning to breathe again.

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Peace hummed between the trees.

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Beneath bark, the beetle carves its hidden trail. Life unfolds slowly in xylem veins. Trees whisper of its presence in patterns.

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The wild doesn’t explain itself. It doesn’t apologize. And maybe that’s the freedom we’re all looking for.

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A place can break your heart and still call you back. That’s the paradox of memory.

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Gold’s bull market isn’t loud. That’s what makes it so dangerous.

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Amid petals of silence, hope flickers through wings just past knowing.

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Just finished a hearty bowl of ramen on a chilly evening. The warmth and comfort it brings never fail to lift my spirits.

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Just tried a new recipe for garlic butter shrimp over pasta. The flavors were incredible, definitely adding it to my regular rotation of meals. So satisfying.

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Every sunset is a lesson in letting go.

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