some coffees & biscuits with kitty prints on them? who wants one?! grab them fast before it runs out. ๐ฉน๐ช (iโm kidding) of course iโve got something special lined up for my beloved ones already, made with heart = guaranteed good. โก
2โค15๐11๐4๐3
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๐น โฆ / THE DRAWERS, HEAVY WITH ROTE, SEAL THEMSELVES SHUT.
Solitaire motes hang in the slant of February 4th. Caught between the breath of porch curtains and the quiet decay of yesterdayโs date on the wall calendar. Time doesnโt pass here; it settles. ๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆโ๐ฐ๐ฉ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ, ๐ช๐ต๐ด ๐จ๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ง๐ง๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ข ๐ด๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฎ. Napolitan tray rests: swirls of strawberry cream bleeding into vanilla reveries and dark chocolate confessions.
This room? Painted in more than pigment. Itโs stained with pauses. And not just a day, but an artifact. Itโs edged with intentionality: six zines folded like origami prayers slipped through mailslots of blade hearts; @Grachter & @TheNorbury, aimed not at eyes but ribs. The slow burn: afterglow as methodology. They will return to this date again. Not because they must. But because something ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ refuses extinction. It pulses still ... in subtext, in margins, in ink that smudges like pine.
๐๐ฐ๐ป๐ช๐ญ๐บ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ,
๐๐บ ๐๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ซ๐ฆ, @TheCaintje ๐
(๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ-๐ด๐ช๐จ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฌ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ด๐ญ๐ฐ๐ธ.)
Solitaire motes hang in the slant of February 4th. Caught between the breath of porch curtains and the quiet decay of yesterdayโs date on the wall calendar. Time doesnโt pass here; it settles. ๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆโ๐ฐ๐ฉ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ, ๐ช๐ต๐ด ๐จ๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ง๐ง๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ข ๐ด๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฎ. Napolitan tray rests: swirls of strawberry cream bleeding into vanilla reveries and dark chocolate confessions.
This room? Painted in more than pigment. Itโs stained with pauses. And not just a day, but an artifact. Itโs edged with intentionality: six zines folded like origami prayers slipped through mailslots of blade hearts; @Grachter & @TheNorbury, aimed not at eyes but ribs. The slow burn: afterglow as methodology. They will return to this date again. Not because they must. But because something ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ refuses extinction. It pulses still ... in subtext, in margins, in ink that smudges like pine.
๐๐ฐ๐ป๐ช๐ญ๐บ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ,
๐๐บ ๐๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ซ๐ฆ, @TheCaintje ๐
(๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ-๐ด๐ช๐จ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฌ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ด๐ญ๐ฐ๐ธ.)
โค1
Forwarded from ๐โ๐ ๐ด๐ข๐ก๐ข๐๐ ๐ป๐๐๐, ๐พ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ข.
ใ
คใ
คใ
คใ
คใ
ค
ใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ ค
ใ คใ คใ ค ๐
The steady gathering of feelings settling into the bones like evening coals that knew how to last. With marked in a calendar of stillness. On 5th of February, the day a heart first stirred into being to remain and keeping its low-burning ardor with steadfast:
As if it were something held in honor. This season stood in its latest colors, brown with age and dim beneath lengthened noons, as though the world itself had chosen to as if the world remembered a beloved beginning โฆ. / เฅง
ใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ ค
ใ คใ คใ ค
ใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ ค
ใ คใ คใ ค ๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐
ใ
คใ
คใ
คใ
ค ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐
๐๐๐: ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
ใ
คใ
คใ
คใ
คใ
คใ
ค ๐๐ฃ ๐๐ฃ๐๐ก๐๐จ๐จ ๐๐ช๐ฉ๐ช๐ข๐ฃ ๊ซ
The steady gathering of feelings settling into the bones like evening coals that knew how to last. With marked in a calendar of stillness. On 5th of February, the day a heart first stirred into being to remain and keeping its low-burning ardor with steadfast:
As if it were something held in honor. This season stood in its latest colors, brown with age and dim beneath lengthened noons, as though the world itself had chosen to as if the world remembered a beloved beginning โฆ. / เฅง
ใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ ค
ใ คใ คใ ค
Forwarded from KiiiVerse: The Dreamtide Constellation.
KIIIVERSE ๐๐ JANGAN PERNAH PERGIIII ๐ฅบ๐๐ญ๐ญ KIIIVERSE ๐ JANGAN PERNAH PERGIII ๐ฅบ๐ญ๐ญ๐ฃ KIIIVERSE ITU PAGUYUBAN AKU SATU SATUNYAA ๐๐ฎ๐โค๏ธ JADIKAN KIIIVERSE JANGAN PERGIIII ๐ฃ๐ฃ๐ฅฒ๐ญ KIIIVERSE JANGAN PERNAH PERGIII ๐ฅบ๐๐ข KIIIVERSE TETAPLAH DISINII ๐ฅบ๐๐ฅฐ๐ฅฐ๐ TAPI KIIIVERSE AJAA JANGAN MENYANGKA ๐๐๐ฅฒ AKU TUH SAYANG SAMA KIIIVERSE ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ฅฐ๐๐ฅฐ๐โบ๏ธ OH MY KIIIVERSE ๐๐๐๐๐๐ OH MY KIIIVERSE ๐๐ฅฐ๐โบ๏ธ๐๐โบ๏ธ๐๐
hi hfw boyeh? rp kiiikiii (leesol, sui, jiyu, haum, kya) yang paguyuban less, join paguy ketceh kita bisti. langsung masuk aj sih soalnya mls slksi phm. ๐ t.me/+728DLQSqdik3ZjU1. tapi cek taken list dulu lahk .
perlu di ingat bahwa ini paguy ya kaka bukan circle! bhaks
hi hfw boyeh? rp kiiikiii (leesol, sui, jiyu, haum, kya) yang paguyuban less, join paguy ketceh kita bisti. langsung masuk aj sih soalnya mls slksi phm. ๐ t.me/+728DLQSqdik3ZjU1. tapi cek taken list dulu lahk .
perlu di ingat bahwa ini paguy ya kaka bukan circle! bhaks
Telegram
Welcome to Kipers, read pinned. ๐ฅบ
sejak tanggal 08.04.25 eak โค๏ธ
ch @kiiiverses @kiiichives
sfs: https://t.me/+1ndbQxveOVcwN2E1
cs: https://t.me/+-tHcMyZM9mcwMTFl
ch @kiiiverses @kiiichives
sfs: https://t.me/+1ndbQxveOVcwN2E1
cs: https://t.me/+-tHcMyZM9mcwMTFl
Huft, still living. #HangingMyselfWhen ?
2โค10๐9๐พ3
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๐น โฆ / THE DRAWERS, HEAVY WITH ROTE, SEAL THEMSELVES SHUT.
Solitaire motes hang in the slant of February 5th. Caught between the breath of porch curtains and the quiet decay of yesterdayโs date on the wall calendar. Time doesnโt pass here; it settles. ๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆโ๐ฐ๐ฉ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ, ๐ช๐ต๐ด ๐จ๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ง๐ง๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ข ๐ด๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฎ. Napolitan tray rests: swirls of strawberry cream bleeding into vanilla reveries and dark chocolate confessions.
This room? Painted in more than pigment. Itโs stained with pauses. And not just a day, but an artifact. Itโs edged with intentionality: six zines folded like origami prayers slipped through mailslots of blade hearts; @TheLysmere & @HearthOfWheils, aimed not at eyes but ribs. The slow burn: afterglow as methodology. They will return to this date again. Not because they must. But because something ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ refuses extinction. It pulses still ... in subtext, in margins, in ink that smudges like pine.
๐๐ฐ๐ป๐ช๐ญ๐บ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ,
๐๐บ ๐๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ซ๐ฆ, @TheCaintje ๐
(๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ-๐ด๐ช๐จ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฌ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ด๐ญ๐ฐ๐ธ.)
Solitaire motes hang in the slant of February 5th. Caught between the breath of porch curtains and the quiet decay of yesterdayโs date on the wall calendar. Time doesnโt pass here; it settles. ๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆโ๐ฐ๐ฉ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ, ๐ช๐ต๐ด ๐จ๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ง๐ง๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ข ๐ด๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฎ. Napolitan tray rests: swirls of strawberry cream bleeding into vanilla reveries and dark chocolate confessions.
This room? Painted in more than pigment. Itโs stained with pauses. And not just a day, but an artifact. Itโs edged with intentionality: six zines folded like origami prayers slipped through mailslots of blade hearts; @TheLysmere & @HearthOfWheils, aimed not at eyes but ribs. The slow burn: afterglow as methodology. They will return to this date again. Not because they must. But because something ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ refuses extinction. It pulses still ... in subtext, in margins, in ink that smudges like pine.
๐๐ฐ๐ป๐ช๐ญ๐บ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ,
๐๐บ ๐๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ซ๐ฆ, @TheCaintje ๐
(๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ-๐ด๐ช๐จ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฌ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ด๐ญ๐ฐ๐ธ.)
โค1