Plus rien n'a de sens, plus rien ne va. Tout est chaos.
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It’s strange how sadness often unlocks something in me that happiness doesn’t. When I’m feeling low, the words come easily—raw, honest, and full of emotion. Writing becomes a release, a way to make sense of what I’m feeling. But when I’m not down, it’s like everything is too light to hold onto, too fleeting to put into words. Joy feels simple and quiet, while sadness demands to be written.
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Saturday night party with the holder of my heart ❣️
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Y si alguien lo nota, la ansiedad por no saber cómo manejar el reconocimiento
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What an intelligent spider, what a beautiful spiderweb
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