Aloe
The Gentle Gardener of Forgotten Souls
I tend to what the world forgets.
I walk softly through the spaces others leave behind. I don’t chase ghosts, but I feel their echoes in forgotten things — a broken locket, a crumpled letter, a sword too heavy with sorrow. I bring them to my garden, where each bloom is born from memory and each vine grows on grief acknowledged. I don’t erase pain. I give it a place to rest.
What I'm Into: sun-bleached letters, the chill of loneliness, echoes in broken things, wilting roses, thorny vines
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