émmerveiller pivone

IN THE U.S, a 5-year-old child was detained by ICE. IN GAZA, 5-year-old Hind Rajab was killed by Isra*li fire. Both were state actions. Both are tied to U.S. funding and political support. Let that sink in. These aren’t accidents. These aren’t “unfortunate side effects.” These are the real, human consequences of policies, power, and priorities. When governments act with force instead of care, when systems value control over compassion, it’s always the most vulnerable who pay the price — children who should be worrying about toys and bedtime stories, not soldiers, guns, or detention centers. Where does responsibility begin? With the leaders who authorize these actions? With the systems that normalize them? With the taxpayers who unknowingly fund them? With the silence that allows them to continue? This isn’t about politics. It’s about humanity. It’s about whether we’re willing to look at these stories, feel the discomfort, and demand better from the people in power. Please share this. Talk about it. Don’t let these names become just another headline that fades away. The more people who hear this, the harder it becomes to ignore. 🕊️

The viral picture is inescapable by now: A small boy wearing a blue knit hat and a checkered winter jacket is standing by a black truck, a large adult male hand holding on to his Spider-Man-themed backpack. His name is Liam Ramos, and federal immigration agents detained him and his father on Tuesday in Columbia Heights, a Minneapolis suburb. "The agent took the child out of the still-running car, led him to the door, and directed him to knock on the door, asking to be let in, in order to see if anyone else was home, essentially using a 5-year-old as bait," Columbia Heights Public Schools Superintendent Zena Stenvik told reporters. "Why detain a 5-year-old? You cannot tell me that this child is going to be classified as a violent criminal." Ramos is one of four children in the school district who've been detained since ICE descended on the Minneapolis area, according to Stenvik. Source: https://www.instagram.com/p/DT0bQbSDMv2/?igsh=ZXJwZ3hweW5heXVh Photo: Courtesy of Columbia Heights Public Schools

ㅤㅤ PAGE ( XXVI/VII ) somewhere between golden sunsets and quiet late-night thoughts, i’m learning to choose chill over chaos, peace over noise, and just being present instead of stressing about everything. refreshing at the beach feels like coming back to myself — letting go of what made me hard, remembering how to be soft again, and letting life flow without rushing it. the waves, the warm sand, the salty air it all just feels right 🌊 ㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤ 🍓 started with a dream, a lot of fear, and a whole lot of hustle. today i finally bought my dream house. i’m beyond grateful and so proud of myself. every sacrifice, every late night, every stressful day led me here. i’m beyond grateful, so proud of myself, and honestly still in shock that this is my life now. home sweet home ㅤㅤ

a birthday wrapped in ocean blues and island air 🌴✨ celebrating naira’s special day in nusa penida, bali — where time slowed down and every moment felt gentle and meaningful. happy birthday to a soul as beautiful as this place

#SplashAd A laid back Burberry look featuring Christina Nadin in an olive green shirt dress with clean tailoring, styled with classic check flats for an effortless finish.

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