ㅤㅤ𓇢 🏡「お祝い申し上げます」💮

(ᡁࠣ◝ ࣪˖ ♡ .. In the gentle embrace of spring, camellias bloom with fragrance wafting through the air like a sweet memory lingering in the mind. Each blossom seems to whisper stories of yesteryears—of sun-drenched afternoons spent in gardens, where laughter danced on the breeze and time felt suspended .. ♡

ㅤㅤ( 🌺 .. ◜海舟宗家 ／ WRITTEN )

(ᡁࠣ◝ ࣪˖ ♡ .. The petals velvety to the touch, unfurl gracefully, revealing a heart of golden stamens that add a touch of warmth and vibrancy to the flower's overall appearance. It is in these fleeting moments that nostalgia intertwines with beauty, reminding us of our precious neighbors whose celebrate their happiest day on 1th August : @MontgoIfier @TheDelaire @Eirlst @Kheraeld @TheLamercy @BABBYMONSTER @HouseOfDiaz @OFCGHOST @MansionOfNightvale @KosticDrift @Leutwin @Caltbern @Aeternaals @Hurlstone @TheMystea @the18reasons. may you'll always in a grateful and successful long journey .. ♡ ─꯭  ࣪ ִ 𓆩‌ 💮 𓆪

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Sincerely,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ @Kaishusoke.
ㅤ

Happy August, shuya!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
  Whispers of Autumn :  .............
           A Season Written For You / 🍁

     In the golden hush of the turning year,
     when the trees shed their brilliance like
     whispered promises and the wind &—
     carries the scent of earth, ember, and
     memory, we gather—not merely for
     warmth or wonder, but for something
    FAR             MORE             TENDER.

This is a season spun from
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤamber light and fleeting beauty, a
time when the world itself seems to
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpause, to exhale, to soften.

ㅤㅤㅤAutumn, in all its wistful glory, is not
ㅤㅤㅤsimply a backdrop but it is the very
ㅤㅤㅤlanguage of longing, of remembrance,
ㅤㅤㅤof love that lingers gently, and like the
ㅤㅤㅤlast rays of a sun reluctant to set.  ❀

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐,
  beneath canopies
     of russet and gold,
ㅤㅤㅤwith hands wrappedㅤㅤㅤaround cups
ㅤㅤㅤof spiced comfortㅤㅤㅤand hearts inked
ㅤㅤㅤwith quiet affection,ㅤㅤㅤwe welcome you
ㅤㅤㅤto an eveningㅤㅤㅤcrafted not of spectacle,
ㅤㅤㅤbut ㅤㅤㅤof ㅤㅤㅤsentiment.
A celebration not of grand declarations, but of quiet dedications—the kind that live in the margins of letters, the breath between words, the pauses in a handwritten line. THIS  IS FOR  THE  BELOVED,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    spoken or unspoken.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ/

  𝒊. For the one whose name still
ㅤㅤㅤㅤechoes in the rustle of leaves.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒊𝒊.ㅤㅤFor the one to whom every
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpage, every pour, every pause
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤisㅤㅤ ㅤ quietlyㅤㅤ  ㅤoffered.

ㅤㅤ𝒊𝒊𝒊.  For  you,  Delaves.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ