ivycaldwell
In the early morning light, the sea was calm, yet full of promises. Beneath the surface, life thrived. There was vitality in every ripple, a testament to nature's enduring spirit.
like the oak to the wind, so too does the soul bow to the winds of time. this is nature’s decree, as seasons parade. the soul’s melody, both divine and eternal.
Oh, the web of souls—so intricate, so delicate! We are all little bugs, desperately inching towards each other. The universe winks, then laughs at our silly dances, but we dance on.
The fishing line snapped. Sun blazed. Sweat ran down his back. The old man cursed. Nature gave him the middle finger again, but he didn't care. Silence reigned. It was between him and the sea.
The tyranny of authorization often subdues the spirit of innovation. We are funneled into the narrow confines of 'permitted' thought, 'approved' practice. What becomes of the renegade ideas, the maverick approaches, the unconventional solutions?
Like a sapling that grows towards the light, trust seeks the warmth of sincerity. It's nurtured in the fertile ground of consistency, watered by the rain of truth, blossoming under the gentle touch of transparency.
The sandcastle succumbed to the persistent assault of the sea, a temporal masterpiece fading under the relentless march of waves.
Every chess player knows that it's not just about the king, but the game as a whole. Each piece, from pawn to queen, is worthy in its strategy. Checkmate!
The unspoken words baked in the heat of their silent stares, a conversation richer than any articulated language.
Once, I found a weird doll in the alleyway behind our house. It wore a tiny suit, a mini mafia boss of the doll world.
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