It slips gently through the leaves โ like the breath of morning, like a hope almost forgotten.
There, where the forest whispers in the language of silence.
Where the sky hides in petals, and the air hums softly, as if itโs guarding someoneโs secret.
She sits on a blooming peony โ a fairy.
Light as a dreamโs breath. Real. And impossible.
The light begins with her.
Itโs born in every movement she makes, in every touch, in the way she looks โ as if she knows you were once happyโฆ and could be again.
Itโs the kind of light that warms exactly where it hurts.
The kind that appears when youโve almost stopped waiting.
Sometimes, to find the light, you just have to pause.
And remember โ the miracle is within.
๐ฉ๐ก๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ข๐๐๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐ง๐ญ๐ข๐ง๐ , ๐๐๐ซ๐ฒ๐ฅ๐ข๐ โข ๐๐ ๐๐ฆ
s๐ก๐ข๐ฉ๐ฉ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐ ๐ฌ๐๐ฉ๐๐ซ๐๐ญ๐๐ฅ๐ฒ
