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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤVARNISHED OF MEMORY
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(13th.) : Letter.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWhere the brush still breathes?
It hung where time moved slowly—dust drifting like whispered prayers, golden light flickering across its worn frame. The painting, old as memory, stared back not with eyes, but with something deeper, the ache of what once was. Brushstrokes, though cracked, still breathed with intention. And still, it spoke. To those who dared linger. To @Edenearth, @YJFluence, @KatsOfCovet, @LegacyOfDustborne, @Dewmourne, @Thirensoles, @MaisonOfNethers, @HouseOfCarterez and @Soulstice17. who stood before it in reverence, their reflections caught within the canvas’s quiet ache. No one remembered the artist’s name. But the soul? The soul remained—trapped, blooming, eternal. Proof that some beauty outlives even the hands that made it. With endless gratitude to all who wandered here, where this splendid memory shall forever cradle every journey taken and every generous spirit shared—bathed beneath the moonlight of joyful minds.
Signed in light and longing,
@KinOfGreesacht
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(13th.) : Letter.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWhere the brush still breathes?
It hung where time moved slowly—dust drifting like whispered prayers, golden light flickering across its worn frame. The painting, old as memory, stared back not with eyes, but with something deeper, the ache of what once was. Brushstrokes, though cracked, still breathed with intention. And still, it spoke. To those who dared linger. To @Edenearth, @YJFluence, @KatsOfCovet, @LegacyOfDustborne, @Dewmourne, @Thirensoles, @MaisonOfNethers, @HouseOfCarterez and @Soulstice17. who stood before it in reverence, their reflections caught within the canvas’s quiet ache. No one remembered the artist’s name. But the soul? The soul remained—trapped, blooming, eternal. Proof that some beauty outlives even the hands that made it. With endless gratitude to all who wandered here, where this splendid memory shall forever cradle every journey taken and every generous spirit shared—bathed beneath the moonlight of joyful minds.
Signed in light and longing,
@KinOfGreesacht
❤1
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ㅤ
Memories Preserved in Jars.
Glass beads reflect the light all over again,
as do the stray butterflies in the air.
#TimeForGFriend ๋࣭ ࣪ ༊
For the sake of feeling and remembering the benignity of long-cherished memories, they recalled the space they had long preserved. The key that held all their longing—although their souls were no longer in tandem, as each soul had taken its distinctive path.
𓆩 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ ⟡ ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𓆪
ㅤ
ㅤ
Memories Preserved in Jars.
Glass beads reflect the light all over again,
as do the stray butterflies in the air.
#TimeForGFriend ๋࣭ ࣪ ༊
For the sake of feeling and remembering the benignity of long-cherished memories, they recalled the space they had long preserved. The key that held all their longing—although their souls were no longer in tandem, as each soul had taken its distinctive path.
𓆩 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ ⟡ ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𓆪
ㅤ
ㅤ
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤVARNISHED OF MEMORY
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(14th.) : Letter.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWhere the brush still breathes?
It hung where time moved slowly—dust drifting like whispered prayers, golden light flickering across its worn frame. The painting, old as memory, stared back not with eyes, but with something deeper, the ache of what once was. Brushstrokes, though cracked, still breathed with intention. And still, it spoke. To those who dared linger. To @TeenBuds, @ectura, @TheAescendants, @Ningrounds and @RosierGateau who stood before it in reverence, their reflections caught within the canvas’s quiet ache. No one remembered the artist’s name. But the soul? The soul remained—trapped, blooming, eternal. Proof that some beauty outlives even the hands that made it. With endless gratitude to all who wandered here, where this splendid memory shall forever cradle every journey taken and every generous spirit shared—bathed beneath the moonlight of joyful minds.
Signed in light and longing,
@KinOfGreesacht
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(14th.) : Letter.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWhere the brush still breathes?
It hung where time moved slowly—dust drifting like whispered prayers, golden light flickering across its worn frame. The painting, old as memory, stared back not with eyes, but with something deeper, the ache of what once was. Brushstrokes, though cracked, still breathed with intention. And still, it spoke. To those who dared linger. To @TeenBuds, @ectura, @TheAescendants, @Ningrounds and @RosierGateau who stood before it in reverence, their reflections caught within the canvas’s quiet ache. No one remembered the artist’s name. But the soul? The soul remained—trapped, blooming, eternal. Proof that some beauty outlives even the hands that made it. With endless gratitude to all who wandered here, where this splendid memory shall forever cradle every journey taken and every generous spirit shared—bathed beneath the moonlight of joyful minds.
Signed in light and longing,
@KinOfGreesacht
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Forwarded from THE BOYZ VILLAGE.
ㅤsilhoutte: 🩻⠲ㅤvol. 1998
(architecture of the unkempt)
\
ㅤas the traffic lights bleed red and gold
across his face, he finds a solitary bench.
░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░
he doesn’t belong to the polished glass towers or the hurried suits; he belongs to the grit, the late-night diners, and the echoes between buildings.
/ 럭비; 11 faint white lines across
his knuckles, trophies
of a physical life. ⓘ .. 🏈
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So you’re breaking up with me because i’m too blonde? Serius? Itu alasan paling kreatif yang kamu bisa pikirin? Lucu sih, padahal yang bikin ribet tuh kamu yang nggak pernah konsisten dan selalu kayak nggak yakin sama apa pun. Yaudah, kalau itu yang bikin kamu tenang, fine. Semoga kamu bahagia sama semua drama yang kamu ciptain sendiri.
🥰2❤1🔥1🎉1🆒1💘1
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Forwarded from Canticle of Heaven's Paradox: Hjërt.
ㅤㅤ
Dear..
dear...
Our sweet candelabra looter,
Saturated, not haunted must we say—yet! Shattered tablecloth, chairs that are filled with one's name, and linking hands that were stained by fig we crushed this early-midday. Darling, was it your glistening eyes that chanters? We hear your calling to reveal this pity-tea-party, a welcoming, mayhaps? So let's be it! Let the candle burn alive as we lift one's sorrow to death.
Toss to us. Under the mad boiling sinensis, @HjertsBot, pretty little finger. Mischievous grief we owe rather than tainted smile as you palm us your burned nails, may it be stained by our eternal vein-loathed ties.
Dear..
dear...
Our sweet candelabra looter,
Saturated, not haunted must we say—yet! Shattered tablecloth, chairs that are filled with one's name, and linking hands that were stained by fig we crushed this early-midday. Darling, was it your glistening eyes that chanters? We hear your calling to reveal this pity-tea-party, a welcoming, mayhaps? So let's be it! Let the candle burn alive as we lift one's sorrow to death.
Not a scheme of sinister. I, (your name, @) veiled by your sacred offering. Letter my call under (your muse, year) and may the Angels not forbid my plea.
Toss to us. Under the mad boiling sinensis, @HjertsBot, pretty little finger. Mischievous grief we owe rather than tainted smile as you palm us your burned nails, may it be stained by our eternal vein-loathed ties.
🕊1🐳1💋1