They sold beauty as hashtags… but we just sat by the window and let the light remember us.

No algorithm needed—just a tear carrying dawn to dusk.

My hair? Brushstrokes on silk. My skirt? Air holding my legs. My vibe? Quiet rebellion.

You scroll past faces… but you never see how stillness feels like poetry.

So… did you also forget to like this? Or are you still remembering?

(Answer: Yes. And it was always enough.)