I never knew my soul so starved. Where every whisper of my name feels like a blessing. Where each brush is a balm against aged callouses. Where every press of lips feels like shafts of light seeping into the cracks under my skin, gluing the broken pieces back together and showing me that there is no poison inside. No rot. Only bruises.
Blossoming yellow and healing.
Love this one!
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Thanks! Its actually my favorite so far 😄
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😊😊
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