17/06/1865.
Κάποιον έχω ανάγκη σήμερα.
Ίσως απόψε και κάθε απόψε.Για λίγο δε μπορούσα να κρατήσω επικοινωνία.Πιστευω καταλαβαίνεις, έτσι δεν είναι;.Σου έλειψα καθόλου;.με πεθύμησες;.Έχει περάσει τόσος καιρός και σε μπορώ να σταματήσω να σε σκέφτομαι.Κρύβω το γραπτό μου καθώς γράφω και κρύβω και εσένα μέσα σ'αυτό γιατί φοβάμαι μη σε έχει πάρει καμία άλλη τόσο καιρό που έχουμε να ειδωθουμε.Πονάω όσο σου γράφω και νιώθω ότι ακόμα αιμορραγώ.
Πιστεύω ότι τρελένομαι.
Κι όχι μόνο επειδή μου λείπεις..
Επειδή είμαστε χωριστά, γιατί βαρέθηκα να μας κρατάνε χωριστά και και νιώθω ότι σε βλέπω παντού.Πως να συνεχίσω έτσι να ζω;Πως θα συνεχίσω να ξυπνάω;
Δεν αντέχω άλλο μακρυά σου..
είσαι κομμάτι μου και χωρίς εσένα νιώθω το κενό.
6 notes
·
View notes
More Roman Cursive – that’s a throwback to last autumn, I made several of these as gift tags … and swipe if you want to get a look at our quince tree in bloom, I guess it’s the latest fruit tree here in the North …? So beautiful. Last year we only had three actual fruits to harvest, so hopefully, there seem to grow many more this year! #calligraphy #kalligrafie #kalligraphie #caligrafia #caligrafía #calligraphie #romanmonoline #lettering #romancursive #typographyrelated #watercolors #aquarellfarbe #aquarellfarben #schmincke #horadam #horadamaquarell #calligraphypractice #letterlove #handwriting #gifttag #handmade #handmadegifttag #geschenkanhänger #quince #quitte #handgemacht #madewithlove #handschrift #flourishforum #federflugcalligraphy https://www.instagram.com/p/CdwT2eYDX4z/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
2 notes
·
View notes
Crisp folds, the scent of lavender and sun-warmed parchment, an indigo ribbon whispering secrets – the letter lay open on my palm, a universe held captive in ink. It was hers, this whispered tapestry of words, spun for another but weaving its way into my soul. Each sentence shimmered like a cornflower bathed in twilight, a hue both bold and fragile, mirroring the bittersweet ache in my chest.
In her words, I tasted summer's honey, sticky on sun-kissed skin, felt the wind's caress through meadows painted gold, saw fireflies blinking constellations against the dusk. She wrote of laughter echoing through canyons, a symphony sculpted by joy, of dancing with shadows stretched long and lean in the dying light. It was a kaleidoscope of living, a mosaic of moments strung together like pearls, each one precious, irreplaceable.
But beneath the vibrant tapestry, a whisper of melancholy hummed. A yearning for stolen moments, for promises etched in sand, for a love story sung in a minor key. I saw the ghost of goodbyes etched in raindrops clinging to windowpanes, heard the echo of unspoken fears in the rustle of turning pages. The cornflower blue, once a symbol of unyielding devotion, now hinted at twilight's inevitable descent, the bittersweet beauty of impermanence.
Reading her letter felt like walking through a field of wildflowers, each blooming a fleeting burst of color against the encroaching dusk. It was a stark reminder of life's impermanence, the precious fragility of every stolen kiss, and every shared sunrise. In her yearning, I saw my own reflection – the fear of letting go of clutching at moments like sand slipping through our fingers.
Yet, there was a fierce hope woven into the fabric of her words. A defiance against the fading light, a call to bloom even in the face of autumn's chill. She wrote of chasing fireflies, their fleeting luminescence a testament to the beauty of the present, of dancing with shadows, embracing the darkness even as we crave the sun. It was a reminder that life, like these fragile cornflowers, is most vibrant when lived to the fullest, embraced in all its bittersweet glory.
As I closed the letter, the scent of lavender lingered, a tangible echo of her story. The indigo ribbon, once a symbol of unrequited love, now felt like a talisman, urging me to paint my own canvas with vibrant hues. To chase fireflies with reckless abandon, to dance with shadows unafraid, to let my heart bloom like a field of wildflowers under the vast, cornflower blue sky.
For in the tapestry of her words, I found not just a love story but a philosophy, a whispered plea to live each day as a burst of color against the inevitable twilight. To love fiercely, laugh unrestrainedly, and bloom with reckless abandon, for the echoes of these moments, like the scent of sun-warmed parchment and ink, will linger long after the curtain falls.
So, let us paint our own canvases, vibrant with laughter, tears, and stolen moments. Let us chase fireflies in the twilight, dance with shadows unafraid, and bloom like fields of wildflowers under the endless cornflower blue sky. For in the tapestry of life, every thread, every fleeting color, tells a story worth living, a love worth cherishing, a memory worth whispering to the wind.
0 notes
Listooo!!
Me a tomado dos desveladas terminarlo, pese a que son chibis fue tardado; no suelo dedicar tanto en un solo dibujo. Pero no negare que hacer un Buen trabajo me deja una satisfacción ♥️
Me a encantado el resultado, la mitad del haori de Tomioka en un inicio fue en chino hacerlo xD , pero cuando le agarre la onda a los patrones no fue tan difícil como pensé.
Dibujo en Acuarela 💕 , espero sea de su agrado. ☺️
54 notes
·
View notes