#deadspidersweave

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𝟻/𝟹𝟼𝟻

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛

𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎—

𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘

𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎.

🕸️

𝙸 𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚘 𝙸 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗, 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍. 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕, 𝙸 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚎, 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛.

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Poem:

I am ocean foam

treading vast currents,

gripped by depth,

blurred by waves,

always longing to

flow but never to

blend.

🌊

[dsweave]

︳• 𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 • ︳

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚊𝚜

𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗—

𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗

𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚢

𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢

𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛

𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍

𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍.

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║· 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 ·║

𝙸 𝚊𝚖

𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝚐𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢—

𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎

𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜

𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜

𝚜𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢

𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎.

🕷

"𝙲𝚛𝚢. 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙻𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗. 𝙼𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗. 𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜."- 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚒

[dsweave]

𝟸𝟺/𝟹𝟼𝟻

𝚃𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛,

𝚠𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢—

𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊𝚜—

𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜.

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𝙸 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙸’𝚖 𝙾𝚔𝚊𝚢

𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙸’𝚖 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢,

𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚋 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘

𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛

𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍.

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║ 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚈𝚘𝚞 ║

𝙶𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎

𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑

𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝚌𝚛𝚢.

🕷

𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢.

𝚍·𝚜·𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎

[dsweave]

𝟷𝟸/𝟹𝟼𝟻

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚔

𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚢—

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏

𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔,

𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚣𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎.

𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚢𝚕𝚎,

𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎-𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗

𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝,

𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍

𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢—

𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍

𝚖𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎.

🕸️

𝙰 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚢𝚕𝚎—𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚣𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎—𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚎𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚣𝚎.