Telegram channel "YOU'RE LATE." — @LATETOWORK

YOU'RE LATE.

29 May 2025, 05:25

Forward from: over the 👡

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4.500─┈where moonlit relics’ hum beneath lace and lilac? go pluck your piece from the garden of the quiet ruin: @tasseledbot. 𐔌ོ۪۪۪۪⁩🥮💐

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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 16:00

Forward from: what happened in 2025?

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@fruitcrumbs; (2007) in a state of mind.
🍧 by love, with love, in love, for love.

one day, three autumns. still, i refuse to regret you and stars start to run through my body. this is another attempt at asking you to love me. / seeking for business mutuals who work in the same community such as profile related needs and writing commission. shoot your shot here @crumbedbot! 🧃
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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 10:10

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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 10:10

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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 09:55

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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 09:54

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28 May 2025, 08:52

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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 08:50

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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 08:32

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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 08:30

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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 08:01

Forward from: ㅤ

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Take the Chance to Bump Into Your Spars @heartoverheels! 💐 ︎ຶ⵿📓

hither for spot come across my ally docket that overflowing, innering dossier ensure launch the troupe luminescent hers pillage back of saturation vague & seventh humbly dusks through reality in leaf. [259]

let me by pursuing historical frescoe in @marytapestrybot | using primary account, profile needs, art-writing specialist and hfw friendly.

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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 06:53

Forward from: case for chic 𐚁

moodboard: forums.
chic and tidy: raised for 3.000.
hygienics contact: @yourspree.

by spruceness for my life. clear water like crystal, with the embrace of the freshness of the norway breeze— it’s between me and your heavenly gaze.

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YOU'RE LATE.

28 May 2025, 05:36

Forward from: Soon-to-be.

‘A BENCH, A BREATH,
(/&.) TWO CUPS GROWING COLD’

(WE SAT LIKE UNOPENED LETTERS) ‘no haste, nor passage drawn.
the township dimmeth her blaze, as though she reckon’d what tenderness truly be. thy fingers toy’d with the rim of porcelain, lukewarm memories steeped in forgotten steam.

“I ween we art all but wayfarers,
seeking kindreds who shan’t vanish
when the hush turneth burdensome.”

thy gaze wander’d to the cobbled street, where shadows stretched long 'cross the paving stones, like tired thoughts chasing their own silhouettes. a breeze, bashful and brief, stirred the paper napkin 'twixt us—its edge curling as though shy to speak.

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