๐Ÿฅ๐Ÿ‘š1920โ€˜s flapper girl ๐ŸŽง
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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ เญจเญง โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€

( โ€˜แฅ’แฅฑแฅŠ๐— page of her diaryโ€™ ) ๐Ÿ•Š๐Ÿ“œ tender
& filled with delicate laughter: เซฎโ‚ โ€ข ห• - โ‚Žแƒโ™กโ‚Šหš

๐“˜เฌ˜ quiet afternoons, she gathers little wonders and piano notes drifting through open windows, ๐’ซink petals resting on lace sleeves, and dreams written carefully between the lines of her diary. หš๏ฝกโ‹†เญจเญงหš

โœฟ some hearts shine loudly, but hers blooms quietly, like a princess wandering through her own ๐’ฎโ„ฏcret gแฅฒrแƒซแฅฑแฅ’.๐ŸŒณโ˜๏ธ
เซฎโ‚ โ€ข ห• - โ‚Žแƒโ™กโ‚Šหš
โ€œโ„’eave a whisper in โ„ณy ๐—€ฮฑ๐—‹แ‘ฏen..โ€ ๐ŸŒณ๐ŸŒท
๊’ฆ๊’ท๏ธถ ๐’œnonymous words are welcomeโ€”
soft confessions, little thoughts, or
anything ur โ„‹eart dares to say. ๏ธถ๊’ท๊’ฆ๐“ฏโœงโธโธโธ
๐Ÿฅ๐Ÿ‘š1920โ€˜s flapper girl ๐ŸŽง
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โ€” 1980 ๐“‚ƒ เฃชห– ๐“’harming ๐’ฎโฑบฯ…แฅฃ ( เญจเงŽ )

โ•ญโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โœฆ ๐Ÿ–‡๏ธ๐Ÿธ
๐’ฎhe carries a quiet kind of charm, the
kind that แ‘ฏโฑบ๐–พsแฅ’'๐— beg to be seen,
yet แฅฒlways is.
โ•ฐโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โœฆ หš๏ฝกโ‹†เญจเญงหš๐Ÿ’—

โ•ญโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ โ‹†โ‹…โ˜†โ‹…โ‹† โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฎ
๐“—er presence feels ๐’ฎoft, almost delicate โ™ก
dressed in black with lace tracing gently
along her silhouette โŠน ๐’ฏhereโ€™s a calm
โ„ฏlegance in the way she moves แฅ™แฅ’rแฅ™sาปแฅฑแƒซ,
unbothered, ๐–พ๐–ฟ๐–ฟโฑบ๐—‹๐—lessly composed โœง
she doesnโ€™t try to ๐’ฎtand out, yet somehow,
๐’ฎhe always does. ๐Ÿ“ท๐Ÿซ™
โ•ฐโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ โ‹†โ‹…โ˜†โ‹…โ‹† โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฏ
๐Ÿฅ๐Ÿ‘š1920โ€˜s flapper girl ๐ŸŽง
โ€” 1980 ๐“‚ƒ เฃชห– ๐“’harming ๐’ฎโฑบฯ…แฅฃ ( เญจเงŽ ) โ•ญโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โœฆ ๐Ÿ–‡๏ธ๐Ÿธ ๐’ฎhe carries a quiet kind of charm, the kind that แ‘ฏโฑบ๐–พsแฅ’'๐— beg to be seen, yet แฅฒlways is. โ•ฐโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โœฆ หš๏ฝกโ‹†เญจเญงหš๐Ÿ’— โ•ญโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ โ‹†โ‹…โ˜†โ‹…โ‹† โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฎ ๐“—er presence feelsโ€ฆ
โ•ญโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ ๐œ—๐œš โŠน โ€งโ‚Šหš โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฎ
๐“ขhe speaks in small gestures rather than words, a slight tilt of her head, fingers brushing through her hair๐Ÿชž๐Ÿชฎ ๐“”yes that linger just a second longer than expected. her
๐–ผษฆฮฑ๐—‹๊ญ‘ isnโ€™t loud, itโ€™s something you notice ๐’ฎlowly and once you do, it stays.
โ‹†โœฉโ‹† ๐ŸŽ€
โ”ˆโ”ˆโ”ˆโ”ˆโ”ˆ โ‹†๏ฝก๏พŸโ˜๏ธŽ๏ฝกโ‹† โ”ˆโ”ˆโ”ˆโ”ˆโ”ˆ

๐“‚ƒ เฃชห–
๐“ขhe exists somewhere between soft and distant, like a quiet story you donโ€™t fully แดœnderstand, but still want to keep ๐—ฟeading โ™ก โœง โœ‰๏ธ๐ŸŒท
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๐“‚ƒ เญจเงŽ หš ๐’ฏhereโ€™s something about certain songs, the way they stay a little longer โœฉยฐ๐“ฒโ‹† than they  should, quietly ,# repeating in your head at random hours, like theyโ€™re trying to +  ใ€ฐ say something you donโ€™t really need to understand.

โœงห–ยฐ๐Ÿซ๐Ÿง๐Ÿป  hits better w headphones ๐ŸŽง


โ˜๐“˜ didnโ€™t plan to play this, it just felt right in the moment with sitting with my guitar๐ŸŽธ, letting the chords fall into place, not perfect, not polished, just real enough ๐ŸŽถ maybe itโ€™s the melody, or the way the words feel soft but heavy at the same time, โ‰ก simple on the surface but still lingering after it ends.  โ–ฆโ–ฆโ–ฆ