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𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚
✧˖°.🎧📖
⋆˙⟡🪶─ .✦📜⊹₊ ݁.୨୧‧₊˚ 🕯️𓍯๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖
𐙚˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆。 ˚
₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧In the vast expanse of night's embrace, Moon and Sol, a distant love story takes place. As the world draws near its final breath, They confess their love, facing the brink of death. Moon, with her silver glow and gentle grace, Yearns for Sol's warmth, a distant embrace. She orbits in silence, a celestial dance, Hoping for a chance, a fleeting romance. Sol, radiant and bright, a fiery ball of light, Longs to hold Moon, to kiss her goodnight. He burns with passion, his rays reaching out, But their love is forbidden, clouded in doubt. For they reside in separate realms, worlds apart, Bound by destiny, unable to start. Moon, cold and distant, whispers in the dark, Her love for Sol, an eternal burning spark. Sol, fierce and glowing, shines from afar, His love for Moon, like a distant star. They watch each other, across the vast divide, Yearning for a love they can never hide. In the twilight hour, as the end draws near, Moon and Sol's love becomes crystal clear. They confess their feelings, their hearts laid bare, Knowing their love is destined for despair. As the world crumbles, and darkness falls, Moon and Sol share a love that enthralls. Their story, a tragedy of love unfulfilled, Yet their connection remains, unbreakable and skilled. In the final moments, as chaos consumes, Moon and Sol unite, their love now blooms. For even as the world comes to its end, Their love transcends, forever it will extend. Moon, Sol, an eternal love story, Written in the stars, their legacy of glory. Though their love may never be fully requited, In the depth of the cosmos, their love is ignited. ᗢ₊˚✧ ゚.
𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩
✧˖°.⊹📖⊹.°˖✧
📓✧˖°.
° ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 🍂⋆.🍵 ೃ࿔ 📖 *:・
𓍯𓂃🖋📜✍🏼
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚
。˚.☕𐙚📜⭒๋࣭ ⭑🖋˚𔓘。💭ꨄ︎
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
. ⊹ ࣪˖ 🧸🕰️🖋️📜 𖥔 ݁˖
ᝰ🖋️ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖
♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚。⋆
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
࿔*:・📖˙ᵕ˙
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆。˚ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ★⋆ ┊ ◦ ★⋆ ┊ . ˚ ˚★ᵀʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵒⁿ ᵃ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳᶠᵘˡˡʸ ˡⁱᵗ ʰᵒˡᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵃᵖᵉˢᵗʳʸ ᵒᶠ ˢᵗᵃʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵉ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵐᵉ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ ʰᵒʷ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡˡʸ ˢʰᵉ ᵍˡᵒʷˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ ⁱˢ ᵗᵒᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ˢʰᵉ'ˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵐʸ ᶜʳʸˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈʳʸ ᵐʸ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆。˚ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ★⋆ ┊ ◦ ★⋆ ┊ . ˚ ˚★
🕯️🍂🍄‍🟫🐌🪵🍁
💼🧳🐻🦅🦉🦇🪶🪵🍂☕️🏰🛖🎞🕰⏳🧹📜🤎
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆
☕︎ 𓍢ִ໋ ✧˚ ༘ ⋆
⋆˙⟡🪶─ .✦📜⊹₊ ݁.୨୧‧₊˚ 🕯️𓍯๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ By londonn (delete if using)
𓂃⋆.˚
📖‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅
₊˚🤍₊⭒˚☾ 🐩 ⋆。゚🕸⋆
📖🎧✨☕
༘⋆🌷🫧💭₊˚ෆ
──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒
𝑴𝒐𝒐𝒏, 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝑺𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖? 𝑺𝒐, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒆, 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝑰 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖? ♡
⋆.˚🦋༘⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
📜જ⁀➴✧˖°‎‧₊˚✧[text]✧˚₊‧
☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓𓇢𓆸
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
🪶.𖥔 ݁ ˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊
📔 ✨‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
loading user @[your user]'s profile.. ~bio credits - @mikaclaws~ ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦ ╭ ─────────────────────⋆ ⋅ ♪ ⋅ ⋆ ─────────── ┊ [🍙] aesthetics - [your text] ┊ [🥡] fav foods/drinks - [your text] ┊ [🦢] close friends - [your text] ┊ [🎧] fav season - [your text] ┊ [🍂] zodiac sign - [your text] ┊ [📿] fav anime/show - [your text] ┊ [📚] fav book series - [your text] ┊ [☕] online nickname - [your text] ┊ [🥥] fav colors - [your text] ┊ [🍁] gender/pronouns - [your text] ┊ [🕯] intelligence - [your text] ╰─────────────────────⋆ ⋅ ♪ ⋅ ⋆ ──────────── ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦ ✩°。⋆🍚𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓪 𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓪𝔂!"
📚📚📚📚read, bookᯓ ᡣ𐭩 𝄞 ˚☽˚。⋆˚☽˚。⋆˚☽˚。⋆˚☽˚。⋆˚☽˚。⋆˚☽˚。⋆˚☽˚。⋆˚☽˚。⋆˚☽˚。⋆˚☽˚。⋆˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚*ੈ𑁍༘⋆*ੈ𑁍༘⋆*ੈ𑁍༘⋆*ੈ𑁍༘⋆ 𐙚 *ੈ𑁍༘⋆✎✎ᝰ.📓🗒 ˎˊ˗✎ᝰ.📓🗒 ˎˊ˗✎ᝰ.📓🗒 ˎˊ˗✎ᝰ.📓🗒 ˎˊ˗✎ᝰ.📓🗒 ˎˊ˗✎ᝰ.📓🗒 ˎˊ˗✎ᝰ.📓🗒 ˎˊ˗✎ᝰ.📓🗒 ˎˊ˗✎ᝰ.📓🗒 ˎˊ˗
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📚.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ʀᴜʟᴇs.𖥔 ݁ ˖📚
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
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