soon-to-be-dorm ian.

ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ
the world, a tired performer, offers us another half-assed season. the trees like lungs filling with the air—my sister, the mean one, pulling my hair.
ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ

they’re just memories, time to write them off.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ARE WE NOT SHAPED MORE BY WHAT WE SEEK THAN BY WE FIND? / from soul to soul, through the silver hush of a
world waiting to awaken. we summon 5—7 pure souls to share a gentle warmth and seek “the truest form of freedom.” leave here the direction you are going, @loneiansbot for the line of your journey, the shape of your becoming.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

stream our new songs! 🤍

she kept her face to the floor, moving in her personal oblivion, her sunflower eyes fixed on the predicament of her life we would never understand.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
nocturne omniscience, philosophy of bones scatters abide sophisticate toehold that occasionally makes profoundest strings heaved to scarce heaven traps and behoove perforce goodwill fractions works for liverleaf sacrosanct. grows with outstanding lines that never reach the retrograde blank and forevermore chase the euphony sound of glorious euphonium with concretely tidings. 🪽♥️
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

we realized that the version of the world they rendered for us was not the world they really believed in...

their desire was silent yet magnificent, like a thousand daisies attuning their faces toward the path of the sun.