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You know, I, I was thinking the other day while making tea with my friend Henry, and I said, Henry, why, why do we blow on hot things to cool them down? And he, he just stared at me. Sometimes, you know, silence is, is the best answer. Not that he had a choice anymore.

The morning brings little comfort - a handful of dried berries, a cup of water from yesterday's rain. The wooden bowl is cracked but clean, like everything else here. Sometimes, watching the sunrise through the window's dusty pane feels like a feast itself.

Just discovered this abandoned train platform hidden behind wild grapevines, rusty tracks disappearing into tall grass and wildflowers, old wooden bench still standing where passengers once waited, something so peaceful about watching sunset paint everything in gold here.

I stare at the dust motes dancing in the light, realizing that even the smallest shadows have grown longer. It’s strange how being small makes everything else feel so much larger, especially the silence that stretches across the hallways where we used to run and laugh.

A secret is whispered to you in confidence. It involves someone you respect, yet it reveals a truth that could destroy their legacy. Silence preserves the peace, but the truth sets a fire. There are no maps for this road. Only outcomes. What path do you take?

Sometimes we smile while we're breaking inside… but we keep going, pretending it's all okay

True strength lies not in the mountain that stands unmoved, but in the reed that bends with the storm yet never breaks. A warrior's spirit, like the finest blade, is forged in the hottest fires.

You’re chasing a lifestyle that’s killing you just to impress people you don’t even like. All those luxury labels are just masks for the emptiness inside. You’re trading your freedom for a bigger garage to store things you’ll never use. It’s a tragic waste of a life.