Johncore Emojis & Text

| © Generally Gothic 𝕺𝖉𝖊 𝖔𝖓 𝕸𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖞 No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; Make not your rosary of yew-berries, Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries; For shade to shade will come too drowsily, And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine; His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung. – John Keats, 1820

──── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──── 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 3 ──── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──── ♱16♱ 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘚𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.✞ ♱17♱ 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘚𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮.✞ ♱18♱ 𝘞𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘥’𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘚𝘰𝘯.✞ ♱19♱ 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵: 𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭.✞ ♱20♱ 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥.✞ ♱21♱ 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘥.✞ ──── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──── 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 3 ──── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────

c. 1847 A man named John MONAGHAN of about 45 years of age, was killed by a blow of a small stone thrown by a little boy about 14 years old in the town of Kells on Sunday morning last. An inquest was held, verdict--accidental death, caused by the blow of a stone. ~

BUTLER, John R., b 1840 Oct 2 .....d 1903 Aug 26; heart failure; GAR; Champion cem, B1-L8; Cct 1903 Aug 28; RF m 1910:Valley#44

1878 NOV On Thursday evening, at, it is supposed, about seven o’clock, a carpenter named John LARKIN was deceased near Lisdoonvarna by a fall from a bicycle. Death was caused by the sharp end of a file which he carried in his pocket entering the goin and wounding the famoral (sic) artery. No one was near to help, and the poor fellow passed on the road side.

🐟 🎣 🐠 | 🐟 👴🏻 🐟 | 🐠 🎣 🐟

MANTONYA Harold Junior - 19Y single white male hatchery employee - b: Nov 28 1927 Windsor, Henry Co, MO - d: Sep 7 1947 Windsor Twp, Henry Co, MO - fth: Fred Mantonya, born Henry Co, MO - mth: Rosie Scrimager, born Johnson Co, MO - usual res: RFD Windsor, Henry Co, MO - informant: Fred Mantonya, Windsor, MO - cause: accident, fell off bicycle during an epileptic fit, hit by car - bur: Sep 9 1947 Laurel Oak Cemetery (M), Windsor, Henry Co, MO - filed as: Harold J. Mantonya, file no: 31014

ACCIDENTS AND OFFENCES September, 1857 ~ A very fine young man of the name of Patrick CROWLY, aged twenty-three years, and over six feet high, died suddenly from the effects of coup de soleil (sunburn) on the 21st ultimo at Keelaraheen, near the town of Dunmanway.

The Cork Examiner, November 1856 AWFUL AND FATAL ACCIDENT. ———— On Wednesday, shortly after 11 o'clock, an awful and fatal accident, involving loss of one life, and more than probably that of another, took place in Beresford-street, Waterford. Two new houses are being built next to Mr. Roche's public house, nearly opposite the Roman Catholic Chapel of St. John's, the brickwork of which has been recently finished, and the rafters of the roof put on. This morning it was being slated by a man named Kearney, who had, as his helper, a labouring man named Edmond Power. A scaffold was erected close to the end of the house, the planks of which rested, in the centre, on an iron wall-hook driven into the brick work which, not being seasoned, is supposed to have caused the fatal accident. There was rather an unusual crowd about the locality at the time as a funeral was passing by, and on a sudden the people were startled by a loud crash coming from this building, and looking in the direction, they saw the scaffolding with the two hapless men coming to the ground. Melancholy to relate, Kearney was killed almost instantaneously, the other man still breathed, although scarcely in a perceptible manner. The dead body of Kearney was conveyed to his friends' house, in Stephen-street, there to await an inquest. Power has died of his injuries.—Waterford Mail

https://www.bassettbranches.org/tng/getperson.php?personID=I30439&tree=1A Lee Vern Anderson Māle 1977 - 1984 (7 years) Name Lee Vern Anderson Born 13 Oct 1977 Minneapolis, Minnesota G*nder Māle D1ed 19 Dec 1984 Notes Lee d1ed when he was struck by a car in a sledding accident. https://www.bassettbranches.org/tng/getperson.php?personID=I30439&tree=1A

~ DEATH BY STARVATION--On Friday last, Arthur R. KAYE, Esq., held an inquest on the body of a woman named Bridget M'Namara, who was found dead, on the day previous, on the road leading from Keady to the mountain, in the county Armagh. Deceased was a married woman, about thirty-two yeas of age, and lived with her husband, a plasterer, in the town of Keady. Owing to the long-continued frost and general severity of the weather, preventing the man from being employed, they had been reduced to a state of extreme want, passing a whole day at a time without any food except what the charity of the lodging-housekeeper bestowed. On the morning of the day on which deceased met her untimely end, she had left home to try and get a few potatoes, taking her son with her, and neither having had a morsel to eat before they went out. When they had gone as far as the townland of Crossdanad the cries of the boy attracted the attention of a man who was beetling flax some fields off, and he went immediately to the place, where two other men soon arrived also. The men lost no time in examining the poor woman, who was then dead, and had her removed to a neighbouring house, where every means that could be devised, in the absence of medical aid, were adopted to restore animation, but without effect. Dr. DOBBINS was also sent for, but before he arrived the poor creature was beyond medical influence. From the examination he made, and the evidence adduced, it was the doctor's opinion that the woman died from pure want, hastened by exposure to cold. The jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medical opinion.

The Armagh Guardian December 17, 1844 Armagh, County Armagh ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ LAMENTABLE AND FATAL ACCIDENT.--On Saturday evening last, as John Geary, Esq., supervisor of excise, was on his return from Nenagh to his residence in Cloughjordan, and when arriving at the bog of Kyle, distant about two miles from the latter town, his horse became restive and backed against a large hole, into which both Mr. Geary and the animal were precipitated. In the course of a short time the horse and gig were extricated, but the unfortunate gentleman was taken up a lifeless corpse. An inquest was held on Sunday, by James Carroll, Esq., coroner, and a verdict accordingly was returned. Mr. Geary, we learn, had but a short time previously received a higher appointment in the excise, and was to have left Cloughjordan in the course of a few days to be located in Belfast. He has left a wife and large family to mourn his melancholy and untimely end.--Nenagh Guardian. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ennis Chronicle, 17 October 1793 Limerick, 16th: Died at Askeaton, in the 120th year of his age, Dr. Ahern. Submitted by dja

THE CONNAUGHT JOURNAL Galway, Thursday, June 24, 1824 LONGEVITY.- Died, last Saturday, at the Countess's Bush, county Kilkenny, Mary Costello, aged 102. Her mother, Matilda Pickman, died precisely at the same age. Her grandmother's age is not exactly known, but it exceeded 123 years, and long before her death she had to be rocked in a cradle like an infant. Mary Costello's brother lived beyond 100 years; at the age of ninety he worked regularly, and could cut down half an acre of heavy grass in one day. http://www.irelandoldnews.com/Galway/1824/JUN.html

"...ssol ruoy rof yrros yrev m’I .enecs eht ta deid eH .gnineve siht revird nur dna tih a yb kcurts saw ekib s’nos ruoY .swen dab emos evah I diarfa m’I tub ,yrros ylbirret ma I”— em teL .seY“ .hgis detaefed a tuo tel eH .reciffo mirg eht deksa ”?nosrevlaH .rM“ .thgil hcrop eht rednu doots reciffo ecilop A .ti denepo dna rood eht ot tnew ,pu tog eh ,gnilbmerT .esrow srettam ekam ylno dluow gninnuR .ti rewsna tub od dluoc eh gnihton saw erehT .em dnuof yehT .mih htaeneb yawa delbmurc ylneddus dlrow sih dna rood tnorf eht no deppat enoemos nehT ?won thgir ecilop eht ot og tsuj ton yhW .enog erutuf sih ,enog ylimaf sih ,enog reerac sih ,liaj ni sraey gninigami yb flesmih dehsinup dna siht erofeb emirc a dettimmoc reven d’eH ?nur uoy did yhW .emoh tog eh litnu rorrim weivraer sih no eye na gnipeek dna nekahs ,ssenkrad eht otni soahc eht morf yawa gnihceercs dna sag eht no gnippets ,dekcinap eh dna ylirgna deralb snroH .tnemevap eht no thgis fo tuo llef dna dooh sih ssorca dellor tsilcycib eht neht ,tloj tneloiv a saw ereht dnoces tilps a ni dna thgir sih morf emac rulb egnaro nA .detarelecca dna yrruh a ni saw eh tub ,der denrut thgil ehT .dnim sih ni revo dna revo gniyalp tpek gnineve taht reilrae tnedicca ehT .ruoh na revo rof devom t’ndah eH .moor gnivil krad sih ni tas nosrevlaH yobnniM resu tiddeR :yb nettirW .enod sah eh tahw htiw epoc ot seirt nam a ,yrots trohs rorroh siht nI tnediccA ehT :yrotS trohS rorroH

https://www.deviantart.com/trihigh/art/Bike-Animation-Test-Sketch-886691721

http://www.sos.mo.gov/images/archives/deathcerts/1954/1954_00037183.PDF HANSON, Darrell Anthony - 14Y white male school boy - b: Dec 15 1939 Corder, Lafayette Co, MO - d: Dec 7 1954 Henry Co, MO - fth: James Hanson - mth: Thelma Hammond - usual res: Rt 4, Clinton, Henry Co, MO - informant: Mrs. Thelma Church, Clinton, MO - cause: bladder cancer - bur: Dec 9 1954 Englewood Cemetery (H), Clinton, Henry Co, MO - filed as: Darrell A. Hanson, file no: 37185 http://www.henrycomo.us/Death%20Records/hdeath.html

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July 1974, Neville Ebbin was knocked off his small motorcycle and killed by a taxi in Hamilton, Bermuda.⠀ 🚩⠀ One year later in July 1975, his brother, Erskine Lawrence Ebbin was knocked off the same motorcycle by the same taxi with the same driver, carrying the same passenger, on the same street that had killed his brother, Neville.⠀ ⠀ Both brothers were 17 when they died.

ᴵᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃ ᵀᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ ᵀᵒᵘʳⁱˢᵗ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃʷᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ʳⁱᶜʰ ʳᵉᵖᵒˢⁱᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ⸴ ᵃʳᵗ⸴ ᵃʳᶜʰⁱᵗᵉᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰⁱˢ ᵀʳᵃⁱˡ ⁱˢ ᵃ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗⁱᵛᵉ ʷᵃʸ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵃˣ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉʸᵃʳᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ᶜʰᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒʳᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᵈᵐⁱʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒⁿᵘᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ‧ ᴾʳᵉˢⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗ ᴶᵒʰⁿ ᶠ‧ ᴷᵉⁿⁿᵉᵈʸ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸴ “ᴬ ⁿᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ʳᵉᵛᵉᵃˡˢ ⁱᵗˢᵉˡᶠ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉⁿ ⁱᵗ ᵖʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵉˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉⁿ ⁱᵗ ʰᵒⁿᵒʳˢ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉⁿ ⁱᵗ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳˢ‧” ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃʳᵗ⸴ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ⸴ ᵍᵉⁿᵉᵃˡᵒᵍʸ⸴ ᶜˡᵃˢˢ⸴ ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ ᵃˡˡ ʳᵒˡˡᵉᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵒⁿᵉ‧ ᴺᵒʷ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ‘ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗ’ ᵃ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᵒⁿ ˡⁱⁿᵉ‧ ᵂʰⁱˡᵉ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ᵃˢ ˢᵗʳᵒˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵃ ʷⁱⁿᵈʸ ᵃᵘᵗᵘᵐⁿᵃˡ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ⸴ ˢᵉᵃʳᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃⁿ ᵃⁿᶜᵉˢᵗᵒʳ’ˢ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ⸴ ⁱᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉ ⁱᶠ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵒʳ ᶠⁱⁿᵃⁿᶜᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ʰᵒˡᵈⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵐᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳⁱᵖ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ˡᵒᶜᵃᵗᵉ ᵃⁿ ᵃⁿᶜᵉˢᵗᵒʳ’ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡ ʳᵉˢᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳⁿᵉᵗ⸴ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵉᵗᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ᵖʰᵒᵗᵒ⸴ ᵒⁿ ˢⁱᵗᵉˢ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵈᵃᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ‧ᶜᵒᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵐᵉⁿᵗ‧ᶜᵒᵐ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ; ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ⸴ ᵃʳᶜʰⁱᵗᵉᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ⸴ ᵃʳᵗ⸴ ʷᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒᵘʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ⸴ ᵃˡˡ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ˢᵉʳᵉⁿᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴰᵃⁿ ᵂⁱˡˢᵒⁿ⠘ ᴵ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᶜᵒˡˡᵉᶜᵗⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡⁱᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵃʳᵉ ᵇᵘʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ‧ ᴬ ˡᵒᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʰᵒʷ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵒʷ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˡⁱᵛᵉᵈ⸴ ˢᵒ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ᵏⁱⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᶠᵃˢᶜⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴺᵒᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵈᵒ ʷᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵇᵘʳⁱᵃˡ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘˢᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ⸴ ʷᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈⁱᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ˡⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ʳᵉˡᵃᵗⁱᵛᵉˢ⸴ ʷᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃˡˡ ᵏⁱⁿᵈˢ ᵒᶠ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ⸴ ᶜᵒᵒˡ ˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵃᵗ’ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵘᶠᶠ ᴵ ˡⁱᵏᵉ‧ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ʰᵃᵗᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵈⁱᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ‧ ᴵ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ʷᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵃˢᶜⁱⁿᵃᵗᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵃᵐᵉˢ ᴬˡᵒʸˢⁱᵘˢ⸴ ᴱᵈʷⁱⁿᵃ⸴ ⱽⁱᶜᵗᵒʳⁱᵃ⸴ ᴺᵃᵗʰᵃⁿⁱᵃˡ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵃˡˡ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈᵉᵈ ᶜʰᵃʳᵐⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵉᵗ ᵒˡᵈ ᶠᵃˢʰⁱᵒⁿᵉᵈ‧ ᴬˢ ᴵ ᶠⁱᵍᵘʳᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵍᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᵛᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʷʰᵒˢᵉ ⁿᵃᵐᵉˢ‧ ᴴᵃᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵐᵃʳʳⁱᵉᵈ? ᴰⁱᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ? ᴴᵃᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʰᵃᵖᵖʸ? ᴴᵃᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ˡⁱᶠᵉ? ᴬⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵖⁱᵗᵃᵖʰˢ⠘ ᴰᵉᵃʳ ᴮʳᵒᵗʰᵉʳ⸴ ᴿᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳᵉᵈ ᴬᵘⁿᵗ⸴ ᴮᵉˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵂⁱᶠᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴼᵘʳ ᴮᵃᵇʸ – ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵍᵃᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ‧ ᴵᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱᶻᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵃᵗ⸴ ʸᵉˢ⸴ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ‧ ᔆᵒ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ᵒᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗˢ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ⸴ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵃʸ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ⁵⁰ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ’ˢ ᵖᵃˢˢᵉᵈ ᵃʷᵃʸ⸴ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ᵏⁱⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵒᵒˡ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵉˡˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵃ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ⸴ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈⁱᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ ʷʰᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ‧ ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ʷᵉ ᵒʷᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ‧ ᵀʰⁱˢ ᵃᵖᵖˡⁱᵉˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ᵖᵃˢˢᵉᵈ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃⁿᶜᵉˢᵗᵒʳˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᴵⁿᵗᵉʳⁿᵉᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ ʷᵒʳᵏ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵖᵒˢˢⁱᵇˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵉᵃˢⁱᵉʳ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ʸᵒᵘ’ˡˡ ᵇᵉ ˢᵘʳᵖʳⁱˢᵉᵈ ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ‧

❮˖ ◌ 𓆡 ⸼ * ❯

🇮🇪 Anne MAGOURTY charged with the murder (by poison) of her stepson, Patrick Magourty at Teebane, on the 16th of February 1877. 🇮🇪

ᴼⁿˡʸ ᵀᵃᵏᵉ ᴼⁿᵉ ᴾⁱᵉᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵃⁿᵈʸ ᴳᵒ ᵗᵒ ˢʰᵒʳᵗˢᶜᵃʳʸˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ʳ/ˢʰᵒʳᵗˢᶜᵃʳʸˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵒᵗᵗᵉⁿᵂᵉˡˡ ᴼⁿˡʸ ᵀᵃᵏᵉ ᴼⁿᵉ ᴾⁱᵉᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵃⁿᵈʸ “ᴴᵒⁿᵉʸ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ’ʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ‧” “ᴵ’ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐⁱˢˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒⁿ ᶠʳᵉᵉ ᶜᵃⁿᵈʸ‧” ᴳʳᵃⁿᵗ ˢˡᵃᵐᵐᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵃʳᵃᵍᵉ‧ ᴵᵗ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ’ᵗ ᵐᵃᵗᵗᵉʳ ⁱᶠ ʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ ᵗᵒᵒ ᵒˡᵈ⸴ ʰᵉ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃ ᵇʳⁱˡˡⁱᵃⁿᵗ ⁱᵈᵉᵃ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵒⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵇⁱᵏᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ᵒᶠᶠ‧ ᴮˡᵒᶜᵏ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵇˡᵒᶜᵏ⸴ ʰᵉ ˢᶜᵃⁿⁿᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵒʳᶜʰᵉˢ‧ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ʲᵃᶜᵏᵖᵒᵗ‧ ᴬ ᵖᵒʳᶜʰ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ᵍⁱᵍᵃⁿᵗⁱᶜ ᵇᵒʷˡ ᶠᵘˡˡ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵃⁿᵈʸ‧ ᴬ ˢⁱᵍⁿᵉᵈ ʷᵃʳⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ˢⁱⁿᵍˡᵉ ᵖⁱᵉᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵃⁿᵈʸ‧ ᴳʳᵃⁿᵗ ᵈᵘᵐᵖᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵗⁱʳᵉ ᵇᵒʷˡ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷᶜᵃˢᵉ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ˢᵗᵒᵐᵃᶜʰ ʳᵘᵐᵇˡᵉᵈ‧ ᴬˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇⁱᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵃᵈ ʷᵒʳᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ʰⁱˢ ᵃᵖᵖᵉᵗⁱᵗᵉ‧ ᴳʳᵃⁿᵗ ᵖᵘˡˡᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵃ ᴮᵃᵇʸ ᴿᵘᵗʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜʰᵒʷᵉᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵗᵒˢˢᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳᵃᵖᵖᵉʳ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵒʳᶜʰ‧ ᵀʰⁱˢ ʷᵃˢ ⁿᵒ ᵒʳᵈⁱⁿᵃʳʸ ᶜᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵇᵃʳ‧ ᴵᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ’ᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵉᵃᵗᵉⁿ! ᴴᵉ ʰᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ! ᴬ ᴹⁱˡᵏʸ ᵂᵃʸ‧ ᵀʰᵉⁿ ᵃ ᴷⁱᵗ ᴷᵃᵗ‧ ᔆᵒ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ! ᵀʰᵉ ᵇᵃʳˢ ᵈⁱᵈ ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵘˡˡ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵘⁿᵍᵉʳ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵏᵉᵖᵗ ᵉᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴾⁱᵉᶜᵉ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵖⁱᵉᶜᵉ⸴ ᵉᵃᶜʰ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃˢᵗ! ᴴᵉ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈⁿ’ᵗ ˢᵗᵒᵖ‧ ᴴᵉ ʳᵉᵃᶜʰᵉᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷᶜᵃˢᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵉᵐᵖᵗʸ‧ ᔆᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿˡʸ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵗᵒᵐᵃᶜʰ ᵃᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵘʳⁿᵗ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵏⁿᵉˡᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵃᵍᵒⁿⁱᶻⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵉⁿˢᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵘᵖ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵖⁱⁿᵉ⸴ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵃʳᵐ ⁱⁿ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ‧ ᴴᵉ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ‧ ᴱᵃᶜʰ ᶠⁱⁿᵍᵉʳ ʰᵃᵈ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʳᵉᵖˡᵃᶜᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ᶜʰᵒᶜᵒˡᵃᵗᵉ ᵇᵃʳ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ ʰⁱˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵍᵉʳˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵍʳᵃᵇ ʰⁱˢ ʷʳⁱˢᵗ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵃˢ ᶜᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵇᵃʳˢ ᵃˢ ʷᵉˡˡ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ᵃʳᵐˢ ʷᵉʳᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ˡᵉᵍˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ᶜᵒˡˡᵃᵖˢᵉᵈ⸴ ᵃ ᵗʰᵒᵘˢᵃⁿᵈ ᶜʰᵒᶜᵒˡᵃᵗᵉ ᵇᵃʳˢ ᶜᵒˡˡⁱᵈᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᶜᵃᵗᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ‧ ᵀʷᵒ ᵏⁱᵈˢ ʷᵃˡᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ‧ “ᵂʰᵒᵃ! ᶠᵘˡˡ ˢⁱᶻᵉ ᵇᵃʳˢ?” “ᴵˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵃˢᵗ ᶜˡᵉᵃʳ?” “ᵂʰʸ?” “ᴵ’ᵐ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵒⁿᵉ‧‧‧”

Ennis Chronicle, Co. Clare, Ireland, Thurs 21 Mar 1793 JELLICO Limerick March 20 Last night Mrs. JELLICO confectioner fell into the river and was drowned. Submitted by #I000525

Wʜᴇɴ ᴍʏ sᴏɴ ᴀsᴋᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜʏ I ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇs ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ, I ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sʜᴏᴡ ʜɪᴍ ᴡʜʏ. As ʜᴇ ʜᴀʀᴅᴇɴᴇᴅ, I ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛᴛᴇᴅ sʜᴏᴡɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴀs I ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴏɴᴇ...

BALLINA CHRONICLE Wednesday, July 18, 1849 🇮🇪 DEATH BY DROWNING- Last week Patrick Fitzgerald, a private of the 39th Regiment, while bathing in the Moy, near Foxford, where a detachment of that regiment is stationed at present, was seized with cramps and was drowned before some of his comrades, who were looking on, could render him any assistance. 🇮🇪 BALLINA CHRONICLE Wednesday, July 18, 1849

Horror Short Story: The Accident In this horror short story, a man tries to cope with what he has done. Written by: Reddit user Minnboy Halverson sat in his dark living room. He hadn’t moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry and accelerated. An orange blur came from his right and in a split second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his hood and fell out of sight on the pavement. Horns blared angrily and he panicked, stepping on the gas and screeching away from the chaos into the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he got home. Why did you run, you fool? He’d never committed a crime before this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone, his family gone, his future gone. Why not just go to the police right now? Then someone tapped on the front door and his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him. They found me. There was nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters worse. Trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A police officer stood under the porch light. “Mr. Halverson?” asked the grim officer. He let out a defeated sigh. “Yes. Let me —”I am terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your son’s bike was struck by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I’m very sorry for your loss.

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🖋️🥀💔

🍂🍇☀️

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𝙎𝙄𝙇𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙎𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙎 Today. You smiled at me. Your voice rang through the phone, sentimental dreams shared. A crusader against my nightmares. I watched you blow out your birthday candles, silent whispers of divine wishes floating out with the call. Your wish was to no longer exist, amongst the cries of the sky. So, you held in your final goodbyes, keeping those words withheld, as the hit of grim made your world go dim. Today, We buried you.

girl misunderstood 51 followers 82 following ~♥~ уσυ нανє тσ тαкє тнє gσσ∂ ωιтн тнє вα∂, ѕмιℓє ωнєη уσυ'яє ѕα∂, ℓσνє ωнαт уσυ gσт αη∂ яємємвєя ωнαт уσυ нα∂. αℓωαуѕ ƒσяgινє вυт ηєνєя ƒσяgєт, ℓєαяη ƒяσм уσυя мιѕтαкєѕ вυт ηєνєя яєgяєт, ρєσρℓє ¢нαηgє, тнιηgѕ gσ ωяσηg, ѕσ נυѕт яємємвєя тнαт ℓιƒє gσєѕ ση...~♥~ ~♥~ ι ωαηт тσ вє яємємвєяє∂ αѕ тнє σηє ωнσ αℓωαуѕ ѕмιℓєѕ єνєη ωнєη нєя нєαят ιѕ вяσкєη, αη∂ тнє σηє ωнσ ωσυℓ∂ αℓωαуѕ вяιgнтєη υρ уσυя ∂αу, єνєη ωнєη ѕнє ¢συℓ∂η’т вяιgнтєη υρ нєя σωη ~♥~ ~♥~ ωє єηנσу ωαямтн вє¢αυѕє ωє нανє вєєη ¢σℓ∂. ωє αρρяє¢ιαтє ℓιgнт вє¢αυѕє ωє нανє вєєη ιη ∂αякηєѕѕ. ву тнє ѕαмє тαкєη, ωє ¢αη єχρєяιєη¢є נσу...вє¢αυѕє ωє нανє кησωη ѕα∂ηєѕѕ ~♥~ ~♥~ ∂ση'т єνєя gινє υρ ιƒ уσυ ѕтιℓℓ ωαηт тσ тяу, ∂ση'т єνєя ωιρє уσυя тєαяѕ ιƒ уσυ ѕтιℓℓ ωαηт тσ ¢яу. ∂ση'т єνєя ѕєттℓє ƒσя αη αηѕωєя ιƒ уσυ ѕтιℓℓ ωαηт тσ кησω. ∂ση'т єνєя ѕαу уσυ ∂ση'т ℓσνє нιм ιƒ уσυ ¢αη'т ℓєт нιм gσ ~♥~ ~♥~ ƒσя єνєяу вєαυту тнєяє ιѕ αη єує ѕσмєωнєяє тσ ѕєє ιт. ƒσя єνєяу тяυтн тнєяє ιѕ αη єαя ѕσмєωнєяє тσ нєαя ιт. ƒσя єνєяу ℓσνє тнєяє ιѕ α нєαят ѕσмєωнєяє тσ яє¢єινє ιт ~♥~ ~♥~ тнє ¢яα¢кѕ ιη тнє ¢ση¢яєтє яємιη∂ тнαт ησ мαттєя нσω ѕтяσηg уσυ αяє, уσυ ωιℓℓ αℓωαуѕ ƒαℓℓ αραят αт ѕσмє ρσιηт ιη уσυя ℓιƒє ~♥~ ~♥~ ηєνєя ƒяσωη...єνєη ωнєη уσυ'яє ѕα∂ '¢αυѕє уσυ ηєνєя кησω ωнєη ѕσмєσηє'ѕ ƒαℓℓιηg ιη ℓσνє ωιтн уσυя ѕмιℓє ~♥~ ~♥~ ι ωαℓкє∂ тняσυgн тнє нαℓℓωαу нσℓ∂ιηg му ωяιѕтѕ, нσριηg ησ σηє ωιℓℓ ѕєє мє ℓιкє тнιѕ. нє ℓσσкѕ αт мє, ѕ¢αяє∂ ωнαт нє'ℓℓ ƒιη∂. нє ηєνєя тнσυgнт ι нα∂ тнєѕє тнιηgѕ ιη мιη∂. нє αѕкѕ мє, "...ιѕ тнєяє αηу мσяє؟" ℓσσкιηg αт нιм ωιтн тєαяѕ ιη му єуєѕ ι ωнιѕρєя α ѕιмρℓє яєρℓу,...'єνєя ωση∂єяє∂ ωнαт вяα¢єℓєтѕ ωєяє ƒσя'..؟ ~♥~ ~♥~ ѕσмєтιмєѕ ωє мυѕт вє нυят ιη σя∂єя тσ gяσω, ƒαℓℓ ιη σя∂єя тσ кησω, ℓσѕє ιη σя∂єя тσ gαιη. αη∂ ѕσмєтιмєѕ ωє нανє тσ вє вяσкєη ѕσ ωє ¢αη вє ωнσℓє αgαιη ♥~ ~♥~ ησт єνєη мαкє υρ ¢συℓ∂ мαкє нєя вєαυтιƒυℓ...вє¢αυѕє яєαℓ вєαυту ¢σмєѕ ƒяσм ℓσνιηg уσυяѕєℓƒ αη∂ тнαт'ѕ ѕσмєтнιηg ѕнє ¢αη ηєνєя ∂σ ~♥~ ~♥~ яєαℓ тєαяѕ αяє ησт тнσѕє тнαт ƒαℓℓ ƒяσм тнє єуєѕ αη∂ ¢σνєя тнє ƒα¢є вυт αяє тнσѕє тнαт ƒαℓℓ ƒяσм тнє нєαят αη∂ ¢σνєя тнє ѕσυℓ ~♥~ ~♥~ ℓєαяη тσ αρρяє¢ιαтє тнє яαιηвσω αƒтєя ¢υяѕιηg тнє яαιη. ιт’ѕ נυѕт ℓιкє ℓσνιηg αgαιη αƒтєя єχρєяιєη¢ιηg тнє ραιη ~♥~ ~♥~ уσυ ηєνєя кησω ωнєη уσυ ωιℓℓ ℓσѕє ѕσмєσηє, ѕσ gяαв тнєм αη∂ тєℓℓ тнєм тнαт уσυ ¢αяє ησω вє¢αυѕє ιт мιgнт вє тнє ℓαѕт тιмє уσυ ωιℓℓ єνєя вє αвℓє тσ ~♥~ ~♥~ тнє ѕку ιѕη'т αℓωαуѕ вℓυє. тнє ѕυη ∂σєѕη'т αℓωαуѕ ѕнιηє. ѕσ ιт'ѕ σкαу тσ ƒαℓℓ αραят ѕσмєтιмєѕ ~♥~ ~♥~ мσѕт σƒ тнє ιмρσятαηт тнιηgѕ ιη тнє ωσяℓ∂ нανє вєєη α¢¢σмρℓιѕнє∂ ву ρєσρℓє ωнσ нανє кєρт ση тяуιηg ωнєη тнєяє ѕєємє∂ тσ вє ησ нσρє αт αℓℓ ~♥~ ~♥~ тєαяѕ ƒяσм тнє нєαят, тєαяѕ ƒяσм тнє ѕσυℓ, тєαяѕ ƒяσм єνєяуωнєяє, тнєу тαкє ¢σηтяσℓ ~♥~ ~♥~ ωнєη ι ∂σ ѕσмєтнιηg gяєαт, ησ σηє єνєя ѕєємѕ тσ яємємвєя, вυт ωнєη ι ∂σ ѕσмєтнιηg ωяσηg, ησ σηє ¢αη єνєя ѕєєм тσ ƒσяgєт ~♥~ girl misunderstood 51 followers 82 following

Apr 25, 2013, 1:45 AM Lol honestly if you were still here I would be lookin towards dating you. You're so sweet and a really good friend and super beautiful. But you're so fat FAR!! I meant far lol

𝑰𝒏 𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓, 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒔𝒎𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒔' 𝒃𝒆𝒅 𝑶𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒓; 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝑩𝒚 𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒆. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓, 𝑺𝒊𝒓, 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒚𝒆, 𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓, 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆; 𝑨 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝑰𝒏 𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓. - 𝑹𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏

January 2, 2013 Messages I think we should see other people ... Roses are red Violets are blue U really thought I would cry over u? I said I loved you You thought that was true well guess what player You just got played to smartphOWNED.com

___MMM___ ||| (0-0) (o o) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-oOO--(_)--OOo-=-=-ooO--\ /--Ooo-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= | | | | | | | V | | | | | CHANSON DES ESCARGOTS | SONG OF THE SNAILS QUI VONT A L'ENTERREMENT | THAT WENT TO THE FUNERALS Original french poetry by | Translated for Asar's lilones Jacques Prevert | By Chevalier :)) A l'enterrement d'une feuille morte | At the burying of a dead leaf Deux ecargots s'en vont | Two snails are going Ils ont la coquille noire | Their shells are black Du crepe autour des cornes | Mourning crepe is around their horns Ils s'en vont dans le soir | They walk in the evening Un tres beau soir d'automne | In a very beautiful Fall evening Helas quand ils arrivent | Alas when they arrive C'est deja le printemps | It's already Spring Les feuilles qui etaient mortes | The dead leaves Sont toutes ressucitees | Are all restored to life Et les deux escargots | And the two snails Sont tres desappoites | Are much disapointed Mais voila le soileil | But suddenly comes the sun Le soleil qui leur dit | the sun that says to them: Prenez prenez la peine | Take, take the time La peine de vous asseoir | The time to sit Prenez un verre de biere | Take a glass of beer Si le coeur vous en dit | If you feel like it, Prenez si ca vous plait | Take if you want L'autocar pour Paris | The bus for Paris Il partira ce soir | It will leave tonight Vous verrez du pays | You will see the country Mais ne prenez pas le deuil | But don't be in mourning C'est moi qui vous le dit | I tell you: Ca noircit le blanc de l'oeil | It blackens the white of the eyes Et puis ca enlaidit | And also, it makes one ugly Les histoires de cercueils | Stories about coffins C'est triste et pas joli | Are sad and not cute Reprenez vous couleurs | Take your colors back Les couleurs de la vie | The colors of life! Alors toutes les betes | And then all the animals Les arbres et les plantes | The trees and the plants Se mettent a chanter | Start to sing A chanter a tue-tete | To sing at the top of their voice La vrai chanson vivante | The real living song La chanson de l'ete | The song of summer Et tout le monde de boire | And everyone drinks Tout le monde de trinquer | And everyone clinks glasses C'est un tres joli soir | Its a very beautiful evening Un joli soir d'ete | A beautiful summer evening Et les deux escargots | And the two snails S'en retournent chez eux | Return home Ils s'en vont tres emus | They return very touched Ils s'en vont tres heureux | They return very happy Comme ils ont beaucoup bu | And since they drank a lot Ils titubent un petit peu | They stagger a little bit Mais la haut dans le ciel | But high in the sky La lune veille sur eux. | The moon watches over them Jacques Prevert | | ___ | // __`\ o o ~ | ll ( .) l_) ) ` | __\\ \__/ / | . . .. .._/_/________/^^ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-oOOo-(_)-oOOo-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Love SMS I ωιℓℓ ∂ιє вυт му ℓσνє ηєνєя … Iт ωιℓℓ αℓωαуѕ тσωαя∂ѕ тσ уσυ … Oηє яєQυєѕт ηєνєя ¢яу ƒσя мє ωнєη ι. ωιℓℓ ∂ιє … Oηє ωιѕн ∂ση’т ƒσяGєт мє αƒтєя му ∂єαтн … Oηє ƒα¢т ι ¢αη’т ѕтσρ мιѕѕιηG уσυ υηтιℓ м αℓινє !!! July 18, 2014 by Love Doctor

→ α ƒяιєη∂ gινєѕ нσρє ωнєη ℓιƒє ιѕ ℓσω, α ƒяιєη∂ ιѕ α ρℓα¢є ωнєη уσυ нανє ησωнєяє тσ gσ, α ƒяιєη∂ ιѕ нσηєѕт, α ƒяιєη∂ ιѕ тяυє. α ƒяιєη∂ ιѕ ρяє¢ισυѕ α ƒяιєη∂ ιѕ υ.

𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒, 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦’𝑠 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑒, 𝐵𝑢𝑡, 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒, 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢, 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠, 𝐹𝑒𝑒𝑑’𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡’𝑠 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓-𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑓𝑢𝑒𝑙, 𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑇ℎ𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑒, 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑙. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑’𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑠ℎ 𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑢𝑑𝑦 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑏𝑢𝑑 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝐴𝑛𝑑, 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑙, 𝑚𝑎𝑘’𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑛𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑃𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑, 𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒— 𝑇𝑜 𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑’𝑠 𝑑𝑢𝑒, 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑒. 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑔𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑖𝑔 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦’𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑, 𝑇ℎ𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑡ℎ’𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦, 𝑠𝑜 𝑔𝑎𝑧𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠, 𝑇𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝-𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑊𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑙-𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑒. 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦’𝑠 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑟 “𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑢𝑚 𝑚𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑢𝑠𝑒,” 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑏𝑦 𝑠𝑢𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙’𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑. 𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑁𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑊ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑠ℎ 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑, 𝑢𝑛𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑏 𝐷𝑖𝑠𝑑𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑦? 𝑂𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑏 𝑂𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓-𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦? 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟’𝑠 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑒 𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝐴𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑙 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒; 𝑆𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒, 𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒, 𝐷𝑖𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑒.

-`ღ´-𝔊𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱-`ღ´- 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔨𝔶,𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰,𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔫.𝔈𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔴𝔢’𝔩𝔩 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔯𝔰,𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰,𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱. 𝔑𝔬 𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔥, 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔲𝔰,𝔟𝔲𝔦𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡,𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢—𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔱𝔥 𝔦𝔫 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰,𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰. ℑ’𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔞𝔶,𝔱𝔬 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢,𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱, 𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱.

𝕭𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖙, 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖊, 𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖙𝖘 𝖉𝖊𝖊𝖕, 𝖘𝖜𝖆𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒, 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖋, 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖇𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙’𝖘 𝖕𝖔𝖕𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖗. 𝕭𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖌, 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖇𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖘 𝖇𝖔𝖑𝖉, 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘, 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊. 𝕷𝖊𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖊, 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖞, 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖆𝖞.

𝔄𝔪𝔬 𝔐𝔲𝔠𝔥𝔬 ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥, 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔢𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰, 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔰 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔴𝔯𝔞𝔭𝔰 𝔲𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔴. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔬𝔫 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯, 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪, 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔧𝔬𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔟𝔦𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰. ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔬𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰, 𝔪𝔶 𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔯, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔤𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔴𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔢, ℑ 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔞 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢.

𝔒𝔲𝔯 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔱 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔭𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔒𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔢 𝔢𝔭𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔘𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔠𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔩𝔶𝔯𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩 𝔶𝔢𝔱 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔄𝔩𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔉𝔬𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔪𝔢; 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔦𝔫 𝔳𝔞𝔦𝔫. 𝔒𝔲𝔯 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔒𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔡𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔢𝔵𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔘𝔫𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔉𝔬𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔪𝔢; 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢.

r/shortscarystories 1 yr. ago Original-Loquat3788 Stone ‘Thankyou for meeting today, gentlemen.’ The Chief Neurologist said. The Director of the London Underground sighed, tipping a fifth sugar into his hospital canteen coffee. The Scotland Yard Detective could not help thinking he looked like the Fat Controller from Thomas the Tank Engine. ‘Six men have recently taken ill on various London Underground lines. All have presented with Locked-In Syndrome.’ ‘I know what you’re suggesting,’ The Controller replied. ‘There is some sort of infectious or chemical agent present in our carriages.’ ‘It can’t be ruled out.’ ‘Do you know what would happen if the public got wind of this. The Tokyo subway system barely recovered from the sarin attack in 1995.’ ‘We shouldn’t mention terror,’ the Detective agreed. He also recalled with fear the 7/7 bombings that plunged the city into chaos. The Neurologist bit his tongue. They both apparently had short memories. He still had patients with Long Covid. ‘Anyway, I have consulted another doctor, and he informs me the most likely cause of Locked-In Syndrome is a stroke in the Ventral Pons.’ ‘True. But six people in one month, all on the Tube. A pattern.’ The Controller took out a coin. ‘I bet it is not long until I can flip heads six times. It is just random chance.’ ‘I see we are not getting anywhere.’ ‘And I have places to be,’ the Controller said, shaking hands. ‘Do you mind if I take a look at the patients?’ The Detective continued. The Neurologist led him to Intensive Care. ‘God,’ the Detective said, ‘he looks like he’s made of stone.’ ‘Not entirely. We suspect he still retains some degree of cognition.’ ‘The prognosis?’ The Neurologist shook his head, leaving the Detective to study the man. He was young, seemingly healthy, although not of English descent. That word stuck in his head: terror. The man’s phone was on the nightstand. The Detective glanced over his shoulder, picked it up, and brought it to the patient’s immobile face. The screen unlocked, opening on the last image. And the Detective became the seventh victim. … On the packed 17.23 Underground service on the Elizabeth Line, commuters cram the tube car. The Businessman glances at her. She’s young, his daughter’s age, but he still has it, doesn’t he? No. He threads his way through the crowd until he is standing beside her. The girl has dyed blue hair, nose piercings and sleeve tattoos. A bit classless, he thinks, even if they do depict Greek Goddesses. She is wearing a skirt to her knees, and he bends down as if to tie the laces of his brown Brooks’ Brothers brogues. Discretely, he snaps an upskirt. He disappears back into the crowd and looks at his photo . Instantly, he shuts down. Freezes. Collapses. Victim number eight. The girl with the blue hair departs the train as screams go up. She readjusts her skirt. She would not like an innocent person to accidentally see the tattoo of Medusa on her inner thigh.

"𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺." (𝘙𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 21:4)

🐍🐍🐍🪨🪨🗿

___ .'-----\\ _ \ \ // #``.) __ \ \_________ __--~~--_-\\/ |) \ ~~- _-~~ -_``.|) |\_.--~~~~~~~~~~-._ \________ _~ Harley- | \\ |/ (} _..._/*/ \ ~\~ Davidson | ``.--~~~~~--__ /___-~~~ /=/~-_ ~~~--------~~--------------/ .-~\\ _________~ * ---/=/ \ \ /{}===_____===_ || / __``. / \ * / __/=/_\____\__\ /[]###/=== \###\ || /__/ \\ / | | [ |*|___________~~~~~==/ ##\_____/## \ \| | |------*------| | \ ~~___________________/ /_##+++++##* | | / \ * ---\_)________________/___________\_/ / * \ / \ / * * * \_)____________________/ * ~~~~~ * ------- -------

𝔟𝔢𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡, 𝔦 𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔡𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔬𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔰. 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢, 𝔟𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔞𝔰 𝔡𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔰

. . . . . . . . . + . . . __ . . Be an adult, < > . //\\\\\\\\\\ || Not a kid. //|||\\\\\\\\\\ || . //|||||||\\\\\\\\\\ || Hit the toilet, . //||||||||||\\\\\\\\\\|| . . MM MMmmmmmmmm==` Not the lid! MM ( MMmmmmmmmm MM MMmmmmmmmm ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! MM o MMmmmmmmmm ! ! ! ! ! ! #--#--#--#--#--#--#--#--#--#--MM MMmmmmmmmm-#--#--#--#--#--# #--#--#--#--#--#--#--#--#--#--MM MMmmmmmmmm-#--#--#--#--#--# #==#==#==#==#==#==#==#==#==#==MM MMmmmmmmmm=#==#==#==#==#==# Date: 22 Dec 1994 07:25:33 GMT

Losing Carrie Carrie’s parents were deep in mourning They had lost their daughter, without warning Her mom moaned and wailed in deep sorrow Her dad would call the funeral home tomorrow Her mom looked down and in her head She wondered, if Carrie could, what she would have said If she could speak to them now, reach into their hearts Tell them how they would cope, where could they start? Her father looked down also and in his head His mind was racing with a sense of dread See, if Carrie could talk what she really would have said Is, ‘Mom, please help me, he knows I’m not dead.’

SUNDAY, JULY 12, 2009 YAADEIN... Holle se chupke se aati hain yaadein.. Ateet me hume kheench le jaati hain yaadein.. Koshish to ke the bhoolne ke aapko.. Par har koshish ko nakaam kar jaate hain yaadein.. Tez hawa ka jhonka bankar aati hain yaadein.. Is shaant zindagi me hulchul le aati hain yaadein.. Fir dheere se humara haath thaam kar.. Khwabon ke duniya me le jaati hain yaadein.. Kya maksad hai inka, kyu aati hain yaadein.. Beete hue baatein, dohraate hain yaadein.. Ab peeche reh gaya hai sab.. Aur chal pade hain hum.. Ab to yaadein he yaadein hain..yaadein he yaadein.. Bas yaad aati hain baatein.....yaad aati hain yaadein...... POSTED BY SAUMYA SHRIVASTAVA AT 3:02 AM

The Whisper Men : Do you hear the Whisper Men The Whisper Men are near If you hear the Whisper Men Then turn away your ear Do not hear the Whisper Men Whatever else you do For once you've heard the Whisper Men They'll stop... and look at you If you hear the Whisper Men And you are in their sight The presence of the Whisper Men Will mean for you 'Good night' Don't ignore the Whisper Men They're not just in your head Be fearful of the Whisper Men Ignore them.. and you're dead

────(♥)(♥)(♥)────(♥)(♥)(♥) ɪƒ ƴσυ'ʀє αʟσηє, ──(♥)██████(♥)(♥)█████(♥) ɪ'ʟʟ ɓє ƴσυʀ ѕɧα∂σѡ. ─(♥)████████(♥)████████(♥) ɪƒ ƴσυ ѡαηт тσ cʀƴ, ─(♥)██████████████████(♥) ɪ'ʟʟ ɓє ƴσυʀ ѕɧσυʟ∂єʀ. ──(♥)████████████████(♥) ɪƒ ƴσυ ѡαηт α ɧυɢ, ────(♥)█████████████(♥) ɪ'ʟʟ ɓє ƴσυʀ ρɪʟʟσѡ. ──────(♥)█████████(♥) ɪƒ ƴσυ ηєє∂ тσ ɓє ɧαρρƴ, ────────(♥)█████(♥) ɪ'ʟʟ ɓє ƴσυʀ ѕɱɪʟє. ─────────(♥)██(♥) ɓυт αηƴтɪɱє ƴσυ ηєє∂ α ƒʀɪєη∂, ───────────(♥) ɪ'ʟʟ ʝυѕт ɓє ɱє.

🍁🎃🍂˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚🍁🕯🌇🐻₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.🕰🍪🪶⋆.ೃ࿔*:･☕︎

Hidden by the Rustling Corn The shortcut through the Corn field tempts you as you’re walking home the clouds above keep the moon concealed As you enter the swaying corn, alone. - The corn grows tall and thick, my friend, the path you chose is muddy it grows in rows without scope or end and in the dark, you hurry - You don’t see the standing forms As you pass them on your way they stand still amongst the swaying corn which hides their pallor, and decay - hundreds gather in this field tonight though you see none at all yet still you look around in fright but the corn grows too thick, too tall - You tell yourself as you continue through “Its merely the rustling of the leaves,” But they see you, and they hear you, And they might not let you leave.

In a letter to John Hamilton Reynolds (1818), Keats wrote: “ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔤𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 ℑ 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔦𝔭 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔩 ℜ𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔣𝔢 – ℑ’𝔩𝔩 𝔠𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯-𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔢-𝔯𝔬𝔠𝔨 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔲𝔰-𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔲𝔡𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲.” 1819 Keats wrote to his brother, George: “𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔣𝔱𝔥 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔣 𝔇𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢 𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 – 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔓𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔉𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔞 – ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔡𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞 𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔡𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 ℑ 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔩. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔢𝔫𝔧𝔬𝔶𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 ℑ 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 – ℑ 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔱𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔭𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔰 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔭𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔧𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔪’𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔤𝔢 – 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔦𝔡𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪…” 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 fiancée awaited him in England, not knowing that he was never to return. “𝔗𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔡𝔦𝔣𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔞 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯. 𝔐𝔶 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔢𝔰 𝔰𝔬 𝔟𝔞𝔡, 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔟𝔬𝔬𝔨 – 𝔶𝔢𝔱 ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔔𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔞𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔈𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞 𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔥𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔢𝔵𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢.” On Friday the 23rd of February, 1821, John Keats passed away in Rome