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JacMug
JacMug
25/F
ik vraag me af of de de tijd - die zich onherroepelijk voortrekt - soms een moment stilstaat bij datgene wat ze met zich meebrengt.
0
Sep 28, 2023
Sep 28, 2023 at 4:52 PM UTC
Untitled
the sunflowers had withered gracious had they once stood, competing with the golden hues of the sun, there exuding radiance had been a delight to gaze upon; now left to be fetched when morning came.
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Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 7:44 AM UTC
nobody saw them again
my dear, do not worry too often your flower is still young — green, barely has it rooted. the time will come you will flourish, as it will bloom.
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Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 4:50 PM UTC
Untitled
individuals, dozens of them prying until the sun lit up the grounds it felt like the heavens when you did not yet my smile appeared too soon faltered when you left me bounded with affection — crippled butterflies leaving to never fly near again.
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Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 7:15 PM UTC
it was a mere façade
when the flowers started to bloom they withered all of them — in my mind, at least for the eye it is pleasing i do not feel this ease the wind does not calm me it acts more like the turbulence of my emotions weighing me down to earth.
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Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 1:37 PM UTC
untitled iii
my dear, do not worry too often your flower is still young — green, barely has it rooted. the time will come you will flourish, as it will bloom.
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May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 11:57 AM UTC
Untitled
it was with me, intimate as a lover’s kiss like invisible wings, just the feathers that had darkened a bit an inescapable shadow i was passively existing in.
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May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 4:06 PM UTC
the strings are hurting
a dozen gold horses galloping around the fields. dusk is upon, their manes are dancing — a strong wind in our presence how do they not stumble? i do.
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Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 1:55 PM UTC
no hp
light — featherlike — risen into the depths of tranquility
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Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 6:13 PM UTC
untitled
my butterflies adored you; attracted by the soft lingering scent of the flower crown that ever so graciously rested on your pretty locks.
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Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 12:59 PM UTC
the thorns were not foreseen