@jks_shx: #xh

𝘮𝘪𝘵’𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘰 ᴥ :

tus ơi e xin cap ạ🥹

✧°.𝓡𝓲𝓲 ᯓᡣ𐭩 :

hey seri...😔

_gone.u3. :

Ảnh lấy đâu thế

bd. :

tus ơi phông chữ ở đâu thế ạ

n_hihi :

tr ơi bùn xỉu tại đọc hong hiểu nè 😭

. :

T.... N.. D :

ko hiểu cgi nhug vẫn dlai để cho họ thấy mih sâu sắc🥰🥰

VIX :

Yeahh quen dần:))

mas :

Trinh ིྀ :

Sometimes I feel as though I was born with a heart far too fragile for this world and a mind far too loud for silence. The older I become, the more I realize that loneliness does not always arrive in empty rooms; sometimes it hides itself inside crowded conversations, behind soft smiles, beneath the gentle glow of city lights reflected on rain-soaked streets. People look at me and see composure, but they do not hear the endless symphony of thoughts collapsing inside my head every night when the moon hangs quietly above the window and sleep refuses to find me. There are evenings when memories drift back to me like ghosts wrapped in perfume and cigarette smoke, lingering long after they should have disappeared. I think about every version of myself I had to abandon just to survive certain chapters of my life. I think about how exhausting it is to carry oceans of emotion inside a body that was taught to remain calm and graceful no matter how violently the storm rages within. Perhaps that is why I became so attached to midnight skies, cold air, fading music, and empty roads - because they resemble the kind of sadness that never asks to be understood, only felt. And maybe that is the cruelest part of growing up: learning how to become your own hiding place. Learning how to swallow every trembling feeling before it escapes your lips. Learning how to sit quietly while your heart breaks in languages nobody around you would ever notice. Some nights I wonder if people would still call me "strong" if they could hear the way my thoughts beg for peace when the world finally grows silent.

Ry :

@vnghi snack phố hey lgpt dịch dùm tui🙆👽