comment, interact, support

𝖋𝖙. 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖞𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖘 + 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖘 + 𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖕𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖊𝖘

a collection of phrases,

future nostalgia • childhood curtains • drawing cats with pieces of pink chalk • the autumn air that lingers in winter • faded august • hair flying in the wind • late night drives • cherry perfume • visiting libraries and museums • tangerine harbors • chihiro • cotton candy sunsets in the train window • spring blooming from your eyes • paper planes fading in the skies

︑︒⠀⠀⚬∙⠀⠀⠀⠀︓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀·⠄.• ⠀⠀°:.

. . • ⠀⠀ . °⠀ .⠀•⠀ °⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀:. ⠀⠀⠀⠀*₊ °

.⠀⠀⠀⠀ • ⠀⠀⠀ . °⠀⠀⠀ .⠀•⠀︓⠀⠀⠀⠀⚬∙

‧͙⁺⠀⠀*₊⠀⠀ °⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˚*･⠀⠀⠀༓⠀☾⠀⠀⠄.⠀•

⠀ .⠀•⠀ °⠀⠀ °⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀:. ⠀⠀⠀⠀*₊ ° ⠀ . °⠀ .°:⠀

.⠀⠀⠀⠀ • ⠀⠀⠀ . °⠀⠀⠀ .⠀•⠀︓⠀⠀⠀⠀⚬∙

‧͙⁺⠀⠀*₊⠀⠀ ˚*･°⠀⠀☾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༓⠀⠄.⠀•

︑︒⠀⠀⚬∙⠀⠀⠀⠀︓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀·⠄.• ⠀⠀°:.

. . • ⠀⠀ . °⠀ .⠀•⠀ °⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀:. ⠀⠀⠀⠀*₊ °

.⠀⠀⠀⠀ • ⠀⠀⠀ . °⠀⠀⠀ .⠀•⠀︓⠀⠀⠀⠀⚬∙

‧͙⁺⠀⠀*₊⠀⠀ °⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˚*･⠀⠀⠀༓⠀☾⠀⠀⠄.⠀•

⠀ .⠀•⠀ °⠀⠀ °⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀:. ⠀⠀⠀⠀*₊ ° ⠀ . °⠀ .°:⠀

.⠀⠀⠀⠀ • ⠀⠀⠀ . °⠀⠀⠀ .⠀•⠀︓⠀⠀⠀⠀⚬∙

‧͙⁺⠀⠀*₊⠀⠀ ˚*･°⠀⠀☾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༓⠀⠄.⠀•

🌙

𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖞𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖘

— there are no pencils left to write dreams

nor pastels left to colour those dreams with reality

there are no curtains to hide from the dolent feelings

and no home to say where i can rest peacefully

— They are blooming again,

with colours of carmine, golden and blue.

Petals struggling to stay in equilibrium

and not fly away without leaving a clue.

Pastel pupas gliding all around

leaving a dust to later review.

— Tangerine sheet lingers

In the delicate air,

As reflections of light

Gracefully prepare

To touch the waves.

— When lavenders that you grew

lay withered.

You let them swirl in water sprinkles,

As you clasp them in your palms

And defrost into life's uncertainty.

When it's neither black nor white

Just a mixture remains.

You assume that as grey

And maybe it was forever this way.

That's why you never loved dawn,

Your wind chime created broken sounds,

And lavenders wilted.

🌙

𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖘

— days like these

when dahlias

follow the sun

and bugs tickle

my breath

— you wore fake smiles,

thought breathless thoughts,

painted replicas,

sat near windowsills,

and just did

just went on and on

while august faded away

and no one there to notice

how you did to

🌙

𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖕𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖊𝖘

— i couldn't hear how penguins talk or see how auroras look like in real. my questions still hung with metal clips inside my mind getting rusted with sadness all along its way. are they like paintings painted on the sky as its canvas, its each brush stroke completing a vivid color forming the art i couldn't picture?

🌙

🌙

evokes a sense of childhood and memories you never had, like ghibli movies or being alone in an art gallery