빈티지문예
No sharp edges remain—
the day loosens its grip,
folding into a softer rhythm.
Shadows stretch,
not with urgency,
but with patience,
as if time itself
has grown tired of rushing.
The air carries a muted glow,
a quiet surrender,
a promise that nothing
needs to be held too tightly.
Mellowing is not an ending,
but a drift—
a gentle dissolving
into stillness,
where even silence
feels like a gift.
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