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Kaius @kaius
πš’πš: π™»πš’πš›πš“πš˜πš—_πš”πšŠπš’ - πš€πšžπš˜πš πšπš’πš πšŒπšžπš– πš™πš›πšŠπšŽπšœπšŽπš—πšπš’πšŠ πšπš’πš πšŠπš‹ πšŠπš—πš’πš–πš’ πš›πšŠπšπš’πš˜πš—πšŽ, πš—πš˜πš— 𝚊 πš™πš›πšŠπšŽπšŒπšŽπš™πšπš’πšœ πšŠπš•πš’πšŽπš—πš’πšœ. (πš‚πšŽπš—πšŽπšŒπšŠ, πšŽπš™πš’πšœπšπšžπš•πšŠπšŽ πš–πš˜πš›πšŠπš•πšŽπšœ 𝚊𝚍 π™»πšžπšŒπš’πš•πš’πšžπš–)

On ne se dit plus « bonne nuit Β». C’est dommage.
Last summer, when I still had short hair.
Tired as fxxk.
Mi disse: Β«Earl Grey tea and foamed milk with a little vanilla syrup.Β» Feci come mi aveva detto. Β«Si chiama "London Fog".Β» Mi disse, prendendo la tazza. Avevo 19 anni e lavoravo come barista in un Star****s. Fu la prima bevanda fuori menΓΉ che preparai.
Due verbotene Liebe.
Caps are good when you don’t know how to deal with your hair.
In the mood for love. (Wong Kar-wai, 2000)
Meaningless sway.
POV: You are *an adult man.
François Xavier Fabre (French, 1766-1837). "Abel's Death", 1790. Musée Fabre, Montpellier, FR. oil on canvas
From my diary.
Househusband vibe.
Midnight self-reflection.
Self-referential humour is an art.
My way of relaxing.
Shall be allowed because it’s midnight.
*Venite all'agile barchetta mia.
My hair = Bird nest.
Photos from that account which I don’t use anymore.
In pyjamas, no work phone calls allowed.
I’ve been hearing the word β€œnasty” more often in Trump’s speeches than in po*ns. And since I’m kinda connecting this word with Trump, every time I hear β€œYou are so nasty” in a po*n I just feel my boner dead.
Last year I just had a strong desire to delete my Facebook account permanently and I also deleted all the old photos on ig, after which I transferred to Collective. Didn’t even know how to explain that unreasonable desire for quitting social media of the Meta universe but now it does make sense.
源氏物θͺž/Genji monogatari
Pure aesthetic. @lucasmorenx and @canaill0u From X.
Hoc est simplissimum, porque estoy loco.
Cien aΓ±os de soledad.
It’s been years since I worked as a barista
If thou wilt not forget the promises of love thou madest all night, what colour of thy tears will be when thou wilt miss me? The last poem of Fujiwara no Teishi, Empress of Emperor Ichijō Translated by me.
β€œOgni uomo Γ¨ inganno/Every man is a liar.”

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