π©ππ«ππͺ π©ππππππ πππ πΆππππ πΊππ
π©ππ«ππͺ
π©ππππππ πππ πΆππππ πΊππ
The earth remembers what the world forgets.
Beneath every fallen soul,
a flower waits.
Above every wall,
a wing dreams of the sky.
And even when the light is wounded,
it still finds a way to rise.
π’πΈπποΈ
Not every ending belongs to death.