The white curtains swayed softly, as though stirred by invisible hands. Porcelain petals lay scattered at the threshold, delicate and immaculate. In the corner, a painting in an oak frame teetered on its hook, as if on the verge of falling - or weeping. And yet, despite it all, the room held a certain quiet charm, like a memory too gentle to fade.
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ribboin
Aug 30, 2025 06:01PM
quién decidió arruinarme la vida haciendo que aparezcan notificaciones de likes, ¡BASTA! estoy harta(stop ruining my life with like notifications)View all Conversations