Tatyana_v_727:
do you really want to let her go …
Tatyana_v_727:
I'm yours to tame
Tatyana_v_727:
everything in life is art …
Tatyana_v_727:
And I am a vintage soul my love; that’s trapped in a young body. An old soul that struggles to fit in this plastic world … Samiha Totanji
Tatyana_v_727:
Teach love ❤️
Tatyana_v_727:
#MartinLutherKingJr #Rx
Tatyana_v_727:
She'd given love a chance; now she wanted simply to fill the empty spaces. Ease the loneliness while walling off her heart. Delia Owens, Where the Crawdads Sing
Tatyana_v_727:
Hindsight is twenty twenty
Tatyana_v_727:
The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times.Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Tatyana_v_727:
Date Night at The Met
Tatyana_v_727:
#NoWar (#Ukraine & #Holocaust)
Tatyana_v_727:
Why are all rom coms set in New York?
Tatyana_v_727:
museum (off-season)
Tatyana_v_727:
morning coffee ☕
Tatyana_v_727:
if you’re looking for love. . .
Tatyana_v_727:
She would defend herself, saying that love, no matter what else it might be, was a natural talent. She would say: You are either born knowing how, or you never know.Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera
Tatyana_v_727:
I'm in a New York state of mind…
Tatyana_v_727:
Be Nice or Go Home
Tatyana_v_727:
Spin your record, Mr. Weekend
Tatyana_v_727:
love … two opposites… two soulmates… bound by book & coffee 📕☕♥️
Tatyana_v_727:
dis lui que tu l'aimes / tell her you love her
Tatyana_v_727:
“A woman without love wilts like a flower without sun.” Amelie
Tatyana_v_727:
The better side of the medal 💛
Tatyana_v_727:
I contradict myself because I hate time as much as I love it…
Tatyana_v_727:
Into NYC…
Tatyana_v_727:
morning commute ❤️
Tatyana_v_727:
On this poor, indigent ground I shall sow flowers of flowing / colours; I shall sow flowers even amidst the / frost, / And water them with my bitter / tears - Lesya Ukrainka 💙💛
Tatyana_v_727:
What if, one day, our virtual reality will become a reality...
Tatyana_v_727:
Every day as it comes should be welcomed and reduced forthwith into our own possession as if it were the finest day imaginable. What flies past has to be seized at. Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Letters from a Stoic
