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#prose hashtag

Posts attached with hashtag: #prose

Katie Bevington (@katie.bevington) Instagram Profile Photo
katie.bevington

Katie Bevington

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Aadya Singh (@mighty__pen) Instagram Profile Photo
mighty__pen

Aadya Singh

A pleasant morning it was and we did not want to wake up at all! The evil bell had to ring as it was set and so it did spoiling the deep slumber of few of us except for some like me, who barely hear a drumroll while asleep!! We woke up, wished each other day, got dressed up and went for the breakfast. We already knew what we'll get as the menu was perhaps kind of fixed. We ate, we talked and then rushed. Not a very long path it was from our hostel to the classroom but it was a path that knows too much. It has seen us walking from our school shoes to our farewell heels, from our uniforms to our sarees, from our dresses to our traditional outfits, from our giggles to our last suitcase drags. It has seen us fall and then rise. The mountain has actually talked with us when we felt lonely, the trees have played with us and the leaves have danced with us. We entered from this path and it had welcomed us and when we left it cried with us. We have seen moon, stars and rainbows together. This is much more than just a path, it's like a whole journey in itself. And as I always say , Journeys are always beautiful! To me: This journey of this path has been one of the most beautiful yet💛💛 #prose

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Moscow

Дом - это и взгляд на луну, поднимающуюся над спящей равниной, и женщина, которую ты можешь подозвать к окну, чтобы вместе понаблюдать за ней. Дом там, где ты танцуешь с другими, а танец - это жизнь. С.Кинг #prose

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Thoughts • Quotes • Poetry (@madalinacoman) Instagram Profile Photo
madalinacoman

Thoughts • Quotes • Poetry

New York, New York

Good morning, loves! A piece from my first book: Words Unspoken 💜.

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The Unamed Bookshelf (@theunamedbookshelf) Instagram Profile Photo
theunamedbookshelf

The Unamed Bookshelf

💫P.O.É.S.I.E : Comme un lundi de Thomas Vinau aux Éditions La Fosse aux ours. . « Je voudrais garder quelque chose de ce que je vis. Garder quelque chose de Maintenant. D’aujourd’hui. De ce moment. Le temps est en sable. Le ciel a une couleur de brique. Nous sommes un soir d’été. Un petit garçon dort dans son lit. Je viens d’aller le voir. Nous sommes restés tous les deux depuis le début de l’après-midi. Sa mère est allée vendre de vieilles affaires dans un vide-grenier. Je voudrais garder quelque chose de ce que je vis chaque jour. D’elle heureuse. Des journées enfant. Du pouvoir de faire rire. De rassurer. D’une araignée sur le mur. Du parfum du tilleul. Des livres. De la lumière rassurante. Des radis. Je sais que je vais tout perdre. On finit toujours par perdre ces Maintenant. Ils disparaissent. Je n’ai pas trop d’idée. Pas trop de vocabulaire. Je fais des fautes d’orthographe. Je voudrais juste en garder quelque chose. Quelque chose de vivant. Autre chose que la conscience que j’en ai. Autre chose que la peur de le perdre. C’est la raison pour laquelle j’écris ces mots. Ce n’est pas de la littérature. C’est de l’amour. J’écris comme on ferme les yeux en embrassant quelqu’un. » . ✨Un très joli recueil, offrant une poésie accessible et mélodieuse, pour mieux nous faire apprécier les petits bonheurs du quotidien. . #prose

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A Wordsmith's Mind (@wordsmithsmind) Instagram Profile Photo
wordsmithsmind

A Wordsmith's Mind

To the desk I used to scribble onto, It’s been long since I last saw you and I bet you’d have seen many kids like me who were busy engraving their names and plans of their mischief on you, so I think it’s safe to assume that you don’t miss me. But hey, when I engraved my initials on you for the last time I think I did it well enough to be there, etched for generations to come, and whenever you’d tell your story to those who care to listen, you’d name me with a story better than what it used to be (you see what I did there *winks*). . From being my calculation pad for the sums that demanded quick solution of definite integrals to being the invisibility cloak hiding lunch boxes at times when I used to eat food during classes, you’ve been a perfect companion. I remember how you served as a complete package- a notepad, my drumming set, the Love Calculator and sometimes the source of PDA too, acting as a notice board to display the names of the couples in the class (this I swear I didn’t do). . What I wonder is whether you remember it or not, the beginning of my love, first one. The memories, how it feels, teenage-mistakes-commitments (that were never meant to be kept)-broken promises and everything else, it’s all special. When it all began, you were the first one to know, just like a best friend (you didn’t give me any advice to save my ass though), because it was the just a side-effect that I started scribbling that name more often, it was supposed to be a secret but people deciphered easily and as Lord Varys says that if enough people know, it’s no longer a secret, it is an information, and here's all I have, just those memories. . You know there’s something about some songs, whenever you listen to them, they take you to the place where you listened to them for the first time. This feeling, even though the desk might change its form and the feeling attached to it remains loyal only to the corporate, cannot be replaced. (Continued in comments) Open letter by | ( @_iamenlightened )

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The Word Painter (@am_thewordpainter) Instagram Profile Photo
am_thewordpainter

The Word Painter

Belief is invisible but it transforms your reality.

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