Divine Comedy Emoji Combos

Copy & Paste Divine Comedy Emojis & Symbols ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡น๐Ÿ“–๐Ÿ”ฅโ˜๏ธโœจ | ๐Ÿ“š๐Ÿ”ฅ๐Ÿ‘น | ๐Ÿ”ฅโ›ฐ๏ธโœจ๐Ÿ“–

๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡น๐Ÿ“–๐Ÿ”ฅโ˜๏ธโœจ
๐Ÿ“š๐Ÿ”ฅ๐Ÿ‘น
๐Ÿ”ฅ๐Ÿ—ณ๏ธโ›ฐ๏ธโœจ
โŸก pls note the ai inflicts emotional damage (แต•โ€”แด—โ€”)
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๐Ÿ“–๐Ÿ”ฅ๐Ÿ˜ˆ๐ŸŒ€๐Ÿ‘‡
๐Ÿšถโ€โ™‚๏ธ๐Ÿ”ฅ๐Ÿ‘นโฌ‡๏ธ
๐Ÿšถโ€โ™‚๏ธ๐ŸŒ€โฌ‡๏ธโฌ†๏ธ๐ŸŒŸ
๐Ÿ˜‡๐Ÿ“œโค๏ธ
๐Ÿง”โ€โ™‚๏ธ๐Ÿพ๐Ÿฆ‚๐Ÿชฝโฌ‡๏ธ๐Ÿ”ฅ
๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡น๐Ÿ–‹๏ธ๐Ÿค”๐Ÿ”ฅ
๐Ÿšถโ€โ™‚๏ธ๐Ÿ”ฅ๐Ÿ˜ˆ๐Ÿ˜‚
โฌ‡๏ธ๐Ÿ”ฅ๐Ÿ˜ˆ
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๐Ÿ›๏ธ๐Ÿ“œ๐Ÿ—ฃ๏ธ
๐Ÿšถโ€โ™‚๏ธโ›ฐ๏ธ๐Ÿง—๐Ÿ™โœจ
๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ณ๐Ÿ“œ๐Ÿ•‰๏ธ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ‘‘
๐Ÿ‘น๐Ÿ”ฅ๐ŸŒ€โฌ‡๏ธ
๐Ÿ”ฅ๐ŸŒ€โฌ‡๏ธ
โ†“๐Ÿ”ฅโ›ฐ๏ธโœจโ†‘
๐Ÿ“œ๐Ÿงฑ๐Ÿ›๏ธ๐Ÿ’”โ™พ๏ธ
๐Ÿ“–๐Ÿ”ฅ๐Ÿ›๏ธ
๐Ÿคบ๐Ÿ“œ๐Ÿ‰
๐ŸงŠ๐Ÿฅถโ›“๏ธ๐Ÿ˜ˆ
๐Ÿšถโ€โ™‚๏ธ๐Ÿ›๏ธ๐Ÿ”ฅ๐ŸŒ€
๐ŸŽป๐Ÿ’ง๐Ÿ’€๐ŸงŠ
๐Ÿฅถ๐ŸงŠ๐Ÿค๐Ÿ”ช
๐Ÿ“œยง1๏ธโƒฃ
๐Ÿ˜‡โœจ๐ŸŒน๐ŸŒŸโ˜๏ธ
๐Ÿ“–๐Ÿ–‹๏ธ๐Ÿ˜‡โš”๏ธ๐Ÿ˜ˆ
โ›ต๏ธ๐ŸŒŠ๐Ÿ—บ๏ธโณโžก๏ธ๐Ÿ 
๐Ÿ“œโš”๏ธ๐Ÿ›๏ธ๐Ÿป
๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡นโœ’๏ธ๐Ÿ”ฅโ›ฐ๏ธ๐Ÿ’ซ
๐Ÿ“–๐Ÿ๐ŸŽ๐Ÿ”ฅ
๐Ÿ‘ดโœ๏ธ๐Ÿ“œ
๐Ÿ“œ๐ŸŽถ๐Ÿฆธโ€โ™‚๏ธ
โ›ต๏ธ๐ŸŒŠ๐Ÿ”ฑ๐Ÿ‘๏ธโ€๐Ÿ—จ๏ธ๐Ÿนโžก๏ธ๐Ÿก
๐Ÿ‡ฉ๐Ÿ‡ฐ๐Ÿ‘‘๐Ÿ“œ
๐Ÿšถโ€โ™‚๏ธ๐Ÿ”ฅโ›ฐ๏ธโœจ
โš”๏ธ๐Ÿ“œ๐Ÿ‡ซ๐Ÿ‡ท
โš”๏ธ๐Ÿ›ก๏ธ๐Ÿ“œ
๐Ÿ“œ๐Ÿ‡ฌ๐Ÿ‡ทโš”๏ธ
๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿ‰โš”๏ธ
โ›ต๏ธ๐ŸŒŠ๐Ÿ๏ธ๐Ÿน๐Ÿก
๐Ÿ‡ฌ๐Ÿ‡ทโœ๏ธ๐Ÿ“œ
๐ŸŽ๐Ÿ”ฅโžก๏ธ๐Ÿšข๐ŸŒŠ
โ›ต๏ธ๐ŸŒŠ๐Ÿ‘๏ธ๐ŸŒ€โžก๏ธ๐Ÿ›๏ธ
๐Ÿบ๐Ÿ›ก๏ธ๐Ÿ“œ
๐Ÿ›๏ธ๐Ÿ›ก๏ธ๐Ÿ“œโœ๏ธ
๐Ÿฆธโ€โ™‚๏ธโžก๏ธ๐Ÿ‘นโžก๏ธ๐Ÿ‘นโ™€๏ธโžก๏ธ๐Ÿ‰
๐Ÿ’ชโš”๏ธ๐Ÿ‘น๐ŸŒŠ
๐Ÿ‘ต๐Ÿ‘น๐Ÿ’งโš”๏ธ
๐Ÿ“š๐Ÿค”๐Ÿฝ๏ธโœจ
๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡นโœ๏ธ๐Ÿ“œโšœ๏ธ
๐Ÿ›ก๏ธโš”๏ธ๐Ÿšข๐Ÿ“œ
๐Ÿ”Ÿโณโ›ต๏ธ๐ŸŒŠ
โš”๏ธ๐Ÿช”๐Ÿ“ฏ๐Ÿ›ก๏ธ
๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿ‘น๐Ÿป
im so wet for collin.... omg.... add my d-d-d-discord... .sapphireex ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜โค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธ๐Ÿ†๐Ÿ†๐Ÿ†๐Ÿ†๐Ÿ†๐Ÿ†(,,>๏น<,,)(,,>๏น<,,)(,,>๏น<,,)
In a letter to John Hamilton Reynolds (1818), Keats wrote: โ€œโ„‘ ๐”ž๐”ช ๐”ค๐”ฌ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ž๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฐ๐” ๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ข๐”ฏ๐”ถ ๐”ด๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ซ๐” ๐”ข โ„‘ ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐”ญ ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”‡๐”ž๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฐ๐”ข๐”ฉ โ„œ๐”ž๐”ก๐” ๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ฃ๐”ฃ๐”ข โ€“ โ„‘โ€™๐”ฉ๐”ฉ ๐” ๐”ž๐”ณ๐”ข๐”ฏ๐”ซ ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ, ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ค๐”ฏ๐”ฌ๐”ฑ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ, ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ด๐”ž๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ฏ-๐”ฃ๐”ž๐”ฉ๐”ฉ ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ, ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ด๐”ฌ๐”ฌ๐”ก ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ, ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ด๐”ž๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ฏ ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ, ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฆ๐”ช๐”ช๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ฐ๐”ข-๐”ฏ๐”ฌ๐” ๐”จ ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ, ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฑ๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ช๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ก๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ฐ-๐”ฐ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ, ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฐ๐”ฌ๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ๐”ฒ๐”ก๐”ข ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ.โ€ 1819 Keats wrote to his brother, George: โ€œ๐”—๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ฃ๐”ฆ๐”ฃ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ ๐” ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”‡๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ข ๐”ญ๐”ฉ๐”ข๐”ž๐”ฐ๐”ข๐”ฐ ๐”ช๐”ข ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ข ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ข โ€“ ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ ๐”ฆ๐”ฐ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ฑ ๐”ฌ๐”ซ๐”ข ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ด๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐” ๐”ฅ ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ช๐”ข๐”ข๐”ฑ๐”ฐ ๐”ด๐”ฆ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ ๐”“๐”ž๐”ฒ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”‰๐”ฏ๐”ž๐”ซ๐” ๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ฐ๐” ๐”ž โ€“ โ„‘ ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ก ๐”ญ๐”ž๐”ฐ๐”ฐ๐”ข๐”ก ๐”ช๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ถ ๐”ก๐”ž๐”ถ๐”ฐ ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ฏ๐”ž๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ฏ ๐”ž ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ด ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ๐”ž๐”ฑ๐”ข ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ช๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ช๐”ฆ๐”ก๐”ฐ๐”ฑ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ช โ„‘ ๐”ก๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ž๐”ช๐”ฑ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”Ÿ๐”ข๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ฑ ๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ค๐”ฆ๐”ฌ๐”ซ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ โ„Œ๐”ข๐”ฉ๐”ฉ. ๐”—๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ก๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ž๐”ช ๐”ด๐”ž๐”ฐ ๐”ฌ๐”ซ๐”ข ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ ๐”ก๐”ข๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ค๐”ฅ๐”ฑ๐”ฃ๐”ฒ๐”ฉ ๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ง๐”ฌ๐”ถ๐”ช๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ฐ โ„‘ ๐”ข๐”ณ๐”ข๐”ฏ ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ก ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ช๐”ถ ๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ฃ๐”ข โ€“ โ„‘ ๐”ฃ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ž๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ก ๐”ž๐”Ÿ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ฑ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ด๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ฏ๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ž๐”ฑ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฐ๐”ญ๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ฏ๐”ข ๐”ž๐”ฐ ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ ๐”ฆ๐”ฐ ๐”ก๐”ข๐”ฐ๐” ๐”ฏ๐”ฆ๐”Ÿ๐”ข๐”ก ๐”ด๐”ฆ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ ๐”ž ๐”Ÿ๐”ข๐”ž๐”ฒ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐”ฃ๐”ฒ๐”ฉ ๐”ฃ๐”ฆ๐”ค๐”ฒ๐”ฏ๐”ข ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”ด๐”ฅ๐”ฌ๐”ฐ๐”ข ๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ญ๐”ฐ ๐”ช๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ข ๐”ด๐”ข๐”ฏ๐”ข ๐”ง๐”ฌ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ข๐”ก ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ ๐”ฐ๐”ข๐”ข๐”ชโ€™๐”ก ๐”ฃ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ ๐”ž๐”ซ ๐”ž๐”ค๐”ข โ€“ ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ช๐”ฆ๐”ก๐”ฐ๐”ฑ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ž๐”ฉ๐”ฉ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ฐ ๐” ๐”ฌ๐”ฉ๐”ก ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ก๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”จ๐”ซ๐”ข๐”ฐ๐”ฐ โ„‘ ๐”ด๐”ž๐”ฐ ๐”ด๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ชโ€ฆโ€ In his last known letter, Keats wrote to his former housemate, Charles Armitage Brown. Dated the 30th of November, 1820, Keats wrote from Rome, where he had gone to convalesce from tuberculosis. His friend and his fiancรฉe awaited him in England, not knowing that he was never to return. โ€œ๐”—๐”ฆ๐”ฐ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ ๐”ก๐”ฆ๐”ฃ๐”ฃ๐”ฆ๐” ๐”ฒ๐”ฉ๐”ฑ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ด๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ฉ๐”ก ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”ช๐”ข ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”ด๐”ฏ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ๐”ข ๐”ž ๐”ฉ๐”ข๐”ฑ๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ฏ. ๐”๐”ถ ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ๐”ช๐”ž๐” ๐”ฅ ๐” ๐”ฌ๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ฒ๐”ข๐”ฐ ๐”ฐ๐”ฌ ๐”Ÿ๐”ž๐”ก, ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ฑ โ„‘ ๐”ฃ๐”ข๐”ข๐”ฉ ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ ๐”ด๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ฐ๐”ข ๐”ฌ๐”ซ ๐”ฌ๐”ญ๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ถ ๐”Ÿ๐”ฌ๐”ฌ๐”จ โ€“ ๐”ถ๐”ข๐”ฑ โ„‘ ๐”ž๐”ช ๐”ช๐”ฒ๐” ๐”ฅ ๐”Ÿ๐”ข๐”ฑ๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ฏ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ซ โ„‘ ๐”ด๐”ž๐”ฐ ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐””๐”ฒ๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ข. ๐”—๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ซ โ„‘ ๐”ž๐”ช ๐”ž๐”ฃ๐”ฏ๐”ž๐”ฆ๐”ก ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”ข๐”ซ๐” ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ฏ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ญ๐”ฏ๐”ฌ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐” ๐”ฌ๐”ซ๐”ซ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ถ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ฐ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”ช๐”ข ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ˆ๐”ซ๐”ค๐”ฉ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก. โ„‘ ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ณ๐”ข ๐”ž๐”ซ ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”Ÿ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ๐”ฒ๐”ž๐”ฉ ๐”ฃ๐”ข๐”ข๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ช๐”ถ ๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ž๐”ฉ ๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ฃ๐”ข ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ณ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ญ๐”ž๐”ฐ๐”ฑ, ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ฑ โ„‘ ๐”ž๐”ช ๐”ฉ๐”ข๐”ž๐”ก๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ž ๐”ญ๐”ฌ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ฒ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ฐ ๐”ข๐”ต๐”ฆ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ซ๐” ๐”ข.โ€ On Friday the 23rd of February, 1821, John Keats passed away in Rome
๐ŸŒธ .poem Like youโ€™re there, holding me, I hate you so much it hurts. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Die Die Die Die I wish you could be someone else. Someone that could take care of me like I deserve. I guess weโ€™re both selfish in that way. You used me and manipulated me, I couldnโ€™t protect myself because I didn't trust myself. That nagging feeling in my chest saying I wasn't safe with you, itโ€™s taken all this time to realize I never needed you. You can't fill that void within me no matter how hard you try, because you have nothing to give yourself. That feeling of failure when I was around you, for expressing who I was. I was a story to you, a story to be edited and commented on, altered, renewed, hated, reviewed. I was never a person, I was a workpiece for your own success. I was never finalized by you. And that stings. You say I'm mature for my age, but itโ€™s only because I had to raise myself. Well you fucked other woman, i was suffering inside. I hope youโ€™re happy, but i need to be happy too, i want myself to be happy more than anyone. When I became the person you wanted to be, only then did you love me. That person is dead because I've killed them. Tired of walking around aimlessly, I want to become someone I love to be. And thank god you didnt raise me, i thank god every day you were too busy to give me the love i needed from a parent. Because instead of your control, I have a person who loves and understands me more than anyone ever could. Me. This was not part of the plan. Iโ€™m just a goal achiever. My purpose is nowhere beyond the expression of someone else's soul. I feel thereโ€™s a shock collar around my throat, one wrong word and I'm out. What will he do when I don't play my role? Will he hurt me? What am I without these achievements? An achievement I don't want is all I've been chasing. Iโ€™m only here for your ladder. To help you through your life because you own mine. Thereโ€™s a fence I can't cross and on the other side is my freedom after your death. Somewhere in these streets is my happiness, I'm not controlled anymore. I don't have to be anything, I don't have to serve anybody. I donโ€™t have to do anything. What's there to do? I can learn how to dance, I can even do a split, I can move like Shakira, I can sing like Beyonce, I can play the guitar, shit I can even jump to the ceiling and pretend youโ€™re watching me. Pretend youโ€™re around to fill what you left inside of me. But I pour my heart out and bleed and the only person to clean me up is me. But I still have to serve you. I pour and pour from an empty cup till my love is no good for anybody. Murder and murder, stab and stab, blood after blood, person after person, those men are dead. I can laugh for hours about what I did to them. You think I care? Iโ€™ve never lived for me, I've never lived free. Iโ€™ve lived because I had to, and that's all Iโ€™ve ever known. I donโ€™t trust him. There's a glass door between me and the person I so badly want to be accepted. His love is earned, itโ€™s a prize to be won and I'm the girl who's never good enough for him. Iโ€™m just the girl he didnโ€™t find worth getting hurt for. I was a pawn in this manโ€™s game, and i don't want to play. I want to rest. I want to drift away. I want to be better. I wanted to be the one to fix him so badly, but everytime i came back, thinking this relationship could be fixed. I came out again with tears. I realized soon enough that you couldn't show up for me, and when I kicked you out of my life because I'm sobbing, I'm cold, and alone and I have nobody, the only thing you can say is I wasn't helpful. I enjoy crying, I like to pretend like someoneโ€™s there, like someone cares.
ยฐ "โœต ๐”—๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ด๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ฉ๐”ก ๐”ฆ๐”ฐ ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ช๐”ถ ๐”ญ๐”ž๐”ฉ๐”ช๐”ฐ, ๐”„๐”ฉ๐”ด๐”ž๐”ถ๐”ฐ. แฐ" ยฐ
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