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  • Honestly, I’m Trash at replyin here coz I forget about this quite a bit,
    IG is skywlkr97 for those who wanna chat :3
    Honestly, I’m Trash at replyin here coz I forget about this quite a bit, IG is skywlkr97 for those who wanna chat :3
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  • ConsumedByDarkness Wanted some SPICE . HE WHO CONTROLS THE SPICE. CONTROLS THE UNIVERSE https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZcFy_J47zA
    [ConsumedByDarkness] Wanted some SPICE . HE WHO CONTROLS THE SPICE. CONTROLS THE UNIVERSE https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZcFy_J47zA
    Love
    2
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  • The election is anyone's at this point. I don't know or care who wins. All I know is, if Trump and Harris ever got busy and spawned...it would be one ugly, lying, hateful, word salad babbling of a baby!
    The election is anyone's at this point. I don't know or care who wins. All I know is, if Trump and Harris ever got busy and spawned...it would be one ugly, lying, hateful, word salad babbling of a baby!
    Haha
    Like
    3
    5 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 194 مشاهدة
  • #BooksMakeGreatGifts #bookslover #books #booksreading #bookworms
    https://personalbrandingblog.com/people-who-grew-up-reading-a-lot-of-fiction-books-usually-have-these-9-unique-traits/
    #BooksMakeGreatGifts #bookslover #books #booksreading #bookworms https://personalbrandingblog.com/people-who-grew-up-reading-a-lot-of-fiction-books-usually-have-these-9-unique-traits/
    PERSONALBRANDINGBLOG.COM
    People who grew up reading a lot of fiction books usually have these 9 unique traits
    There’s something special about people who’ve spent their childhoods buried in the pages of a good fiction book. These folks might seem like any other, but they harbor unique traits that set them apart. Traits that have been shaped by the worlds they’ve explored and characters they’ve met in their books. Brimming with imagination, empathy, […]
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  • I spent what felt like the whole day today in the park in my town, which also includes a small, partially abandoned cemetery.

    This place makes me thoughtful because of its structure: on one side, children play innocently on a playground, while young couples stroll nearby, their hands intertwined. Yet, just beyond them lies a retirement home, where the building gazes longingly at the cemetery—a silent reflection of mortality.

    In between, smaller, older, crumbling statues stand sentinel, guardians of forgotten stories, their weathered faces etched with the sorrows and joys of those who have come before. Complementing these fading relics, scaffolding is being erected for new architecture, a juxtaposition of the old and the new, of decay and renewal.

    As I walk through this park, a question quickly arises: what does it truly mean to live? We are born, we grow, we learn, we love, and inevitably, we pass away. But do we fade into nothingness, or do we leave a trace behind in our borrowed time? Perhaps a whisper lingers in the hearts of those we touch, a thread woven into the very fabric of the universe, connecting moments that seem so fleeting.

    Is it not a privilege to love and be loved, to create ripples in the fabric of time with our joy and our sorrow? In this park, where the clang of swing sets mingles with the soft rustle of leaves, I feel both connected and isolated—a thread in the grand tapestry of life and death, pulled taut yet ethereal.

    Beneath the laughter and love lies an unspoken truth: we are all temporary. Yet, is it not the beauty of our transience that makes moments so precious, illuminated against the backdrop of eternity? The whispers of those who have come before dance in the air, and I wonder, perhaps they are not so far removed; they linger with us in our laughter, our tears, and in the very act of living.

    I realize that while our bodies may return to dust, our spirits, woven into the lives and hearts of others, may transcend even death, echoing in the stories told under starlit nights and cradled within the whispers of time.
    I spent what felt like the whole day today in the park in my town, which also includes a small, partially abandoned cemetery. This place makes me thoughtful because of its structure: on one side, children play innocently on a playground, while young couples stroll nearby, their hands intertwined. Yet, just beyond them lies a retirement home, where the building gazes longingly at the cemetery—a silent reflection of mortality. In between, smaller, older, crumbling statues stand sentinel, guardians of forgotten stories, their weathered faces etched with the sorrows and joys of those who have come before. Complementing these fading relics, scaffolding is being erected for new architecture, a juxtaposition of the old and the new, of decay and renewal. As I walk through this park, a question quickly arises: what does it truly mean to live? We are born, we grow, we learn, we love, and inevitably, we pass away. But do we fade into nothingness, or do we leave a trace behind in our borrowed time? Perhaps a whisper lingers in the hearts of those we touch, a thread woven into the very fabric of the universe, connecting moments that seem so fleeting. Is it not a privilege to love and be loved, to create ripples in the fabric of time with our joy and our sorrow? In this park, where the clang of swing sets mingles with the soft rustle of leaves, I feel both connected and isolated—a thread in the grand tapestry of life and death, pulled taut yet ethereal. Beneath the laughter and love lies an unspoken truth: we are all temporary. Yet, is it not the beauty of our transience that makes moments so precious, illuminated against the backdrop of eternity? The whispers of those who have come before dance in the air, and I wonder, perhaps they are not so far removed; they linger with us in our laughter, our tears, and in the very act of living. I realize that while our bodies may return to dust, our spirits, woven into the lives and hearts of others, may transcend even death, echoing in the stories told under starlit nights and cradled within the whispers of time.
    Like
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  • Maybe they should of asked the family who ARE NATIVE AMERICANS. Not a bunch of woke retarded demorats.
    Maybe they should of asked the family who ARE NATIVE AMERICANS. Not a bunch of woke retarded demorats.
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  • Who will be the Person of the Year?
    Who will be the Person of the Year?
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    0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 26 مشاهدة
  • NEW: Jennifer Lopez, who was at the same party where her boyfriend Diddy is accused of r*ping a 13-year-old, nearly starts crying while talking about how offended she was by a joke from a comedian.
    NEW: Jennifer Lopez, who was at the same party where her boyfriend Diddy is accused of r*ping a 13-year-old, nearly starts crying while talking about how offended she was by a joke from a comedian.
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  • Can’t believe i forgot how beautiful this whole album is… 20 years since its release. https://youtu.be/XOWUJRZZv4Y
    Can’t believe i forgot how beautiful this whole album is… 20 years since its release. https://youtu.be/XOWUJRZZv4Y
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  • My 1 year lasting project of transforming the whole floor into meeting room area and setting the Logitech equipment that was shipped to us for that purpose is finally coming to an end. I can't feel more accomplished than I already am. Seeing this is my first time I actually tackled such a huge project it's even more rewarding to know that everything works thanks to me. I'm tired now.
    Seeing how this place looks now compared to how it looked a year ago when I first joined the company is beautiful...
    My 1 year lasting project of transforming the whole floor into meeting room area and setting the Logitech equipment that was shipped to us for that purpose is finally coming to an end. I can't feel more accomplished than I already am. 😅 Seeing this is my first time I actually tackled such a huge project it's even more rewarding to know that everything works thanks to me. I'm tired now.😓 Seeing how this place looks now compared to how it looked a year ago when I first joined the company is beautiful...
    Like
    2
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