fafa leesa
Region: MY
Monday 05 August 2024 15:15:05 GMT
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@Suzzy Robby4 :
🥰🥰🥰
2024-10-22 04:38:20
0
Pbqistina :
Hari ahad ni ada bukak ke?
2024-09-11 12:28:14
0
Lovely🧑🏾🚒❤️👩🏻🚒 :
Esk ada buat x
2024-08-14 06:16:35
0
Huda White Glow :
Berapa roll Sis mampu buat paling banyak sehari ???😁
2024-08-08 16:22:40
0
eazzaty :
jauhnya lahai
2024-08-07 05:45:41
0
emyrabdhamid :
sekam area mana
2024-08-06 10:33:03
0
Tyqahh Begini Mencari Cari ✨ :
Awat jauh😭😭
2024-08-06 05:06:58
0
𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔟𝔞𝔩𝔮𝔦𝔰 :
takde cod keee 😩
2024-08-06 04:08:14
0
Akimo Redup Senja :
nk ada voice....🥰
2024-08-05 18:44:33
0
n' :
@q makin dekatt weyh sabtu ni kita gi
2024-08-05 17:08:49
0
𝒌𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒉 ʚଓ :
open cod tk wak
2024-08-05 16:12:43
0
Anak bongsu 🌹 :
esk ada x kt past tani merlimau
2024-08-05 15:21:54
0
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![Do you remember the way the wooden gate groaned on its rusting hinges, how the scent of sun-warmed hay and tilled earth clung to the air like an old hymn? The village was more than a place—it was a pulse, a breath, a slow-moving dream stitched together by the hands of those who loved you before you even understood what love was. You ran through the dust, skin kissed by the sun, laughter swallowed by the vastness of open fields. In the kitchen, your grandmother moved like a quiet deity, shaping dough with hands that smelled of flour and time, feeding you not just to fill your belly, but to fortify you for the world beyond the hills. And your grandfather—his voice, a soft thunder, weaving stories out of nothing, each syllable wrapping around you like a lullaby. But childhood is a cruel thief, letting you believe that things will always be as they are. You thought the yard would always echo with clucking hens and the creak of the water well. You thought the old bed by the window would always be warm from the sun, the stove always alive with the perfume of stews that only grandmothers knew how to make. But time moved in quiet, merciless steps. The voices softened, the hands that once lifted you with ease began to tremble, and the goodbyes—God, the goodbyes—became heavier. You saw it in their eyes every time you left, that silent plea, Don’t stay away too long. And yet, you did. Because life happened. Because you thought you had time. And then, one day, you return. But the yard is silent. The house holds its breath. Their coats still hang by the door, their chairs still pulled out, as if waiting. But the air is hollow, the warmth has seeped into the past, and you realize with a sudden, aching clarity—this was the last time. No more stories, no more bread baking, no more hands smoothing the hair from your forehead. Just echoes. And you, standing there, wishing with everything in you that you had stayed a little longer, listened a little closer, held on a little tighter. If you could go back what would you do differently? Video by @caleamirunei [ Village Life, Romanian Countryside, Childhood Summers, Slow Living ] #villagelife #childhoodmemories #romania #travel](/video/cover/7484563244049288470.webp)
