@berelalahi1991: Done✅️😏😏@Fans Manny Pacqiauo And Messi

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Thursday 23 January 2025 07:35:08 GMT

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Sheep Of GOD :

😘😇boi diattusi ho lagu i ateh dell?😂😋

2025-01-23 08:27:17

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To see more videos from user @berelalahi1991, please go to the Tikwm homepage.

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- #JIN since I'm obsessed to that one tiktok of them im editing him to this song #topform #topformtheseries #topformหาดใหญ่ #topformedit #smartboom #jinakin #jin #smartchisanupong #bl #thai #series #dakaichi #blseries #edit

only took 3 calls with customer service but thank you @abercrombie I’m obsessed #abercrombie #theoffice #leatherpants #aritiza #fallfashion

only took 3 calls with customer service but thank you @abercrombie I’m obsessed #abercrombie #theoffice #leatherpants #aritiza #fallfashion

There is a kind of heartache that can’t be described in simple words. It lives in your chest like a weight you never put down, and it shows up in the quiet moments—the ones that used to be filled with laughter, little voices, and the comfort of knowing your family was whole. Being estranged from your adult child and your grandchildren is a grief that feels like death, but without a funeral. It’s a loss you have to wake up to every single day, with no closure, no goodbye—only silence and aching memories. Every breath I take is a reminder. Every sunset, every holiday, every milestone missed is a whisper of what should’ve been. You carry around birthdays you can’t celebrate, photos you can’t take, and stories you’ll never get to hear. And no matter how many times people say “give it time” or “move on,” you know deep in your soul that some wounds don’t heal with time—they just become part of you. You don’t move on from this kind of sorrow. You survive it. You get through one day and then the next, even when your chest feels hollow. You try to smile in public and hold back tears in the grocery store when you see a grandmother pushing a cart with a toddler in it. You dream of reconciliation and then wake up and remember that the silence is still there. And sometimes, the guilt sneaks in—the could-haves, should-haves, and what-ifs playing on repeat like a broken record. There are moments when the pain feels unbearable, when the weight of missing them threatens to crush what’s left of your spirit. But it’s in those moments that I cling to the only hope that has never failed me—God’s promises. When everything else has been stripped away, when the love I poured into my child has been returned with distance or rejection, God remains steady. He becomes the place I run to when I feel like I can’t breathe. The place where I cry and scream and whisper prayers too raw to say out loud. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.” – Jeremiah 29:11 That verse is more than just words on a page—it’s the rope I hold on to when the waves of sadness rise too high. God’s plans don’t always make sense in the moment, and the pain doesn’t magically disappear. But His promise is that this isn’t the end. That somehow, even in this heartbreak, He is working. That even when I can’t see the path forward, He is carving one. That He is close to the brokenhearted and binding up the wounds that feel like they’ll never stop bleeding. And so I wait. I pray. I hold on. Not because I’m strong, but because He is. Because He is good. And even in this season of grief and longing, I trust that He has not forgotten me—or them. Liz, momma and nana.

There is a kind of heartache that can’t be described in simple words. It lives in your chest like a weight you never put down, and it shows up in the quiet moments—the ones that used to be filled with laughter, little voices, and the comfort of knowing your family was whole. Being estranged from your adult child and your grandchildren is a grief that feels like death, but without a funeral. It’s a loss you have to wake up to every single day, with no closure, no goodbye—only silence and aching memories. Every breath I take is a reminder. Every sunset, every holiday, every milestone missed is a whisper of what should’ve been. You carry around birthdays you can’t celebrate, photos you can’t take, and stories you’ll never get to hear. And no matter how many times people say “give it time” or “move on,” you know deep in your soul that some wounds don’t heal with time—they just become part of you. You don’t move on from this kind of sorrow. You survive it. You get through one day and then the next, even when your chest feels hollow. You try to smile in public and hold back tears in the grocery store when you see a grandmother pushing a cart with a toddler in it. You dream of reconciliation and then wake up and remember that the silence is still there. And sometimes, the guilt sneaks in—the could-haves, should-haves, and what-ifs playing on repeat like a broken record. There are moments when the pain feels unbearable, when the weight of missing them threatens to crush what’s left of your spirit. But it’s in those moments that I cling to the only hope that has never failed me—God’s promises. When everything else has been stripped away, when the love I poured into my child has been returned with distance or rejection, God remains steady. He becomes the place I run to when I feel like I can’t breathe. The place where I cry and scream and whisper prayers too raw to say out loud. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.” – Jeremiah 29:11 That verse is more than just words on a page—it’s the rope I hold on to when the waves of sadness rise too high. God’s plans don’t always make sense in the moment, and the pain doesn’t magically disappear. But His promise is that this isn’t the end. That somehow, even in this heartbreak, He is working. That even when I can’t see the path forward, He is carving one. That He is close to the brokenhearted and binding up the wounds that feel like they’ll never stop bleeding. And so I wait. I pray. I hold on. Not because I’m strong, but because He is. Because He is good. And even in this season of grief and longing, I trust that He has not forgotten me—or them. Liz, momma and nana.

متى اخر مره ضحكت #tiktok #صنعاء_روح_قلبي #نزيه_سوار #اكسبلور #هشتاق_لايك_كومنت

متى اخر مره ضحكت #tiktok #صنعاء_روح_قلبي #نزيه_سوار #اكسبلور #هشتاق_لايك_كومنت

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