πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR) header
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β € β €β € β € β € β € β € β €β € Something set free is running through the night,β € And a dark awaits us all around the corner…⠀ β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β € β €

they/she | 36 | tma/sv/mvrp
Joined February 2021
Photo by πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR)Photo by πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR)Photo by πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR)Photo by πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR)Photo by πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR)Photo by πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR)Photo by πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR)Photo by πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR)Photo by πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR)Photo by πΏπ‘’π‘œπ“ƒπ’Ά (@CLLCTOR)
β € β € β € 𝓛eona 𝓓ion β€” an original character and poem written by MYLES. β € β € β €
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Spring is here and I am lost. Spring is here and I am still cold. Spring is here and in the unearthed sun, I wilt.
Winter is coming, and I can’t help but feel a little dread. Autumn is nice, though, this time of year, I tend to lose myself; changing with the colors of the trees, losing my leaves and becoming empty. If only that last bit were completely true.
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Terrified that I will come home to a house that no longer knows me
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i have spent days with the trees. those silent guardians of sorrow.
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how come i end up where i started? how come i end up where i went wrong?
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half daughter, half apology, all fire and the wrong kind of love.
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I have fallen sick. But then, I have always been sick, since the day I was born.
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β €you ask me about love and i tell you about violence . i’m sorry . i thought that’s what love was .
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I love people. Everybody. I love them, I think, as a stamp collector loves his collection. Every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me.
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That post hurt a bit, to be honest.
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β€œIf no one knows you’re alive, you aren’t.” And here I have been toeing the line of death for over a decade now.
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what a horrible night to have a curse πŸ’€
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from the diaries of franz kafka
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Winter is coming, and I can’t help but feel a little dread. Autumn is nice, though, this time of year, I tend to lose myself; changing with the colors of the trees, losing my leaves and becoming empty. If only that last bit were completely true.
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The hunter becomes the prey; I who grew stronger in the warm months now hide in the shadows. The predators which ignore their call to sleep are the ones to be feared in these times. l
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I have not slept, but this is not unusual.
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