émmerveiller pivone

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ my soul feels like a chapel half-collapsed by time, stitched together with first light and quiet damage. i carry days that taste like ripe fruit and nights dusted with smoke, my pulse whispering stories it never learned to forget. you arrived like a gentle catastrophe—seasonless, inevitable—leaving warmth in places i didn’t know were still alive. now love lingers in the ruins: caught in my breath, resting behind my ribs, echoing in the soles of my tired feet and the tender curve of my ears. even the dark parts of me remember you, blooming softly where you once stood—evidence that something holy can still rise from being felt too deeply ㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤ my spirit is a cathedral of fractures and dawnlight, built from honeyed ruins and constellations that never learned how to rest. i carry mornings bruised peach and evenings salted with ash, my veins humming with quiet galaxies. you stepped inside me like a season that forgot how to leave—hands warm with weather, breath tasting of sun and iron—and every place you touched learned a new kind of ache. now love survives in the aftermath: curled in my hollow chest, lodged between my teeth like a prayer i keep biting down on, trailing through my blistered heels and the soft cartilage of my listening ears. even my shadows remember you, trembling under the weight of your heat, blooming where you once stood—proof that something sacred can still grow in the wreckage of being felt too deeply. 💎 ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤ my soul is made of broken crystals, peached mornings, and the spine of stars with the moon’s apricot promise. you wandered in my soul with your bronzed palms and left scars of summer’s kiss in ; siennamore saint-lou shallow backbone of gnawing despair — a primal touch of survival, youre housing a love that dwells in my sunken corpse, in my scorned mouth, in my sun-scorched feet, in shadows that tremble with the weight of of your warm sighs in my petals-soft ears ㅤㅤㅤㅤ