Fadilaaa

Some gates stay closed. Some doors open wide.

Purple falls from the trees, climbs the windows, and hides small paws in its fields.

The mountains always know how to say goodbye beautifully.

Sun-warmed gooseberries and daisies, straight from the garden’s hands.

Where the night glows green and the forest leans in through every pane.

Two friends, a sunset.

Where rainbows, old stone, and slow afternoons meet.

I got lost in a magical forest, every path hiding a secret door... 🌿✨

Stone remembers. Flowers refuse to forget. 🌸✨

Float. Perch. Bloom. Fall. The quiet poetry of small beautiful things.

Three ways the earth meets the sky at night — quietly, beautifully, endlessly.

White orchids in the quiet corners, pink blooms in the sun, and light that knows exactly where to fall.

Two sides of the same dark poetry — velvet, bone, and nothing in between. 🖤

Moss, stone, and black water. The forest’s quietest language.

@tanyarlfes Ayokkk

💚 halo ges yuk yuk