ruins
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A ghost-lit chapel keeps candles burning for someone who promised later and never came, until hope itself starts feeling haunted.
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Where ivy swallows walls and darkness respects one small flame, the forest seems to keep a chapel of its own.
A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
A ghost-lit chapel keeps candles burning for someone who promised later and never came, until hope itself starts feeling haunted.
Where ivy swallows walls and darkness respects one small flame, the forest seems to keep a chapel of its own.