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#音楽をソッと置いておく人
Many Mornings
音楽の星
10
donaiyanen
It's cooler in the mornings and evenings,
but it's hot during the day.
朝夕は涼しくなったけど
昼間はまだ暑いですね。🥵
空と雲が大好きの星31
柚子
I wake up, apply eyedrops, take my medication with tea, and have some coffee.
Then I make a few vegetable side dishes — today I made five kinds.
After that, I wash my face and do some stretching.
Mornings are when I feel most productive.
chat GPTいないと書けないw
#英語日記チャレンジ
#English diary challenge
英語学習214 もっとみる 
関連検索ワード
新着
いぬひこ
理由なんていらない。
静かな光が差し込むだけで、
心はそっと、弾みだすから…☀️🌿
⸻
今日という一日が、いつもよりちょっと特別に感じる朝。
なにがあるってわけじゃないけど、
胸の奥にふわっと期待が灯ってるんだ。
新しい空気を吸い込むみたいに、
心がそっと弾んでる朝って、なんかいいよね。
–––
This morning feels a little more special than usual.
Nothing in particular is happening,
but there’s a soft glow of hope deep in my chest.
Like taking in a breath of fresh air,
it’s one of those mornings when my heart quietly skips.
#関係的ASMR #AIart #animegirl #朝の光 #生成AI
自作の詩の星35
なな
A journey across lands, within a heart.
I set off on a quiet journey, alone.
A soul in search—
for something unseen,
something lost within.
In Japan,
the soft chorus of autumn insects
followed the footsteps
of evening walks with my dog.
The air was clear,
crisp as glass,
and the rice fields whispered—
leaves rustling like distant waves,
waiting patiently
for harvest time to come.
Golden stalks, heavy with life,
bowed low,
as if listening
for the right moment to be released.
In the Philippines,
the sea shimmered in endless blue.
From Cebu to Malapascua,
then El Nido—
I chased the edge of the horizon.
I dove beneath the surface,
hoping the depths might answer me.
But what I was searching for
remained quiet,
somewhere beyond coral and salt.
Kalanggaman—
an uninhabited island
shaped like a kiss
between two drifting shores.
I whispered to the wind,
“One day,
I want to camp here with you.”
In Thailand,
on Khaosan Road,
I followed the map scribbled
in Lonely Planet’s margins.
Pad Thai sizzled,
foreign voices filled the air—
it hardly felt like Asia at all.
Or perhaps,
a Western village
planted in Southeast soil.
Like a scene from The Beach,
neon and nostalgia intertwined.
From Bangkok’s alleys,
I drifted south
toward Phuket’s waiting coast.
In Vietnam,
ao dai whispered through humid air,
pho steamed in quiet bowls,
and sudden rain
washed away even the noise.
I quarreled with a motorbike driver,
then laughed,
alone on a borrowed scooter
chasing the perfect bánh mì
through night markets
alive with spice and neon.
From Da Nang to Hoi An,
the road curled like smoke—
and the noodles I ate alone
tasted like courage.
In Bali,
the night chanted with fire.
Kecak dancers circled flame,
and I lay beneath a net,
dreaming in whispers.
I met my mother,
shared mint cucumber water,
and let time soften
what silence could not.
Spa hands pressed memory into skin.
Coconut paths led to Ubud,
where an amaryllis bloomed
quietly in a rice terrace—
as if it, too,
had been waiting.
In the Maldives,
spices clung to the air—
saffron, cumin, memory.
I wandered the morning market,
and in the mosque’s quiet breath,
wrapped myself in stillness
and modesty.
Malé felt too small
for the loneliness I carried.
Even land seemed to shrink
beneath the weight in my chest.
On Maafushi,
romance shimmered
just out of reach.
Stingrays in the shallows
played near my feet—
but the rendezvous
never reached my soul.
In Istanbul,
gulls cried over the Bosphorus,
and the wind tasted like salt and scripture.
At Hagia Sophia,
bells echoed in my ribs,
and a cup of tea
warmed something
colder than skin.
The bazaar twisted like a dream,
each alley a whisper
of spice and silk.
I felt both lost and found,
held in the hum of ancient prayers.
In Paris,
light fell gently
on bowls of pho
and broken mornings.
A stranger—madame—
offered me kindness.
When she said au revoir,
my eyes betrayed me.
Her kiss on my cheek
was the kind of goodbye
that aches for a lifetime.
At Sacré-Cœur,
I surrendered
to a grief I hadn’t named—
let it spill like stained glass
onto the quiet hill.
In Italy,
a single rose bloomed
on the table beside my risotto.
I watched pizza spin
in the hands of artisans
who touched the dough
like a living thing.
Warm laughter filled the streets—
a kindness without question.
In Spain,
tapas flickered beneath golden lights.
Gaudí’s stones reached for the sky,
and I coughed quietly
into thyme tea
as the sun dipped behind
Barcelona’s silhouette.
In Hungary,
steam curled from bathhouse tiles,
and friendship stirred
like the first warmth
after a long frost.
But fever came.
And so did silence.
I lay still in a guesthouse bed,
feeling eyes that saw me
as something other.
Even kindness
had a border that day.
In Morocco and Jordan,
I followed the scent of saffron
through souks that twisted like vines.
Tajine reminded me of home.
The kindness of strangers,
rooted in the Qur’an,
wrapped around me like linen.
In mountain towns dyed blue,
I shrank into myself—
then slowly breathed again
in the calm of dry air
and starlit nights.
What I searched for—
I never found.
Not in the oceans,
not in the prayers,
not in the heat or the hunger.
But in every step,
something remained.
The scent of mint and sea,
the rhythm of unknown tongues,
the silence after parting—
they live inside me now.
I returned
with nothing in my hands,
but everything
in my heart.
What was missing
was never meant
to be found—
It was meant
to be felt.
And now,
it blooms quietly
inside me—
like a flower
no one else sees.
3なな
Milky Way
A woman met a man.
He was always busy —
work,
and the quiet gravity of raising a child,
especially on weekends.
In the soft tangle of their lives,
she stood at a distance,
watching him
like someone studying the moon
without knowing its language.
But he was kind,
gently consistent.
He opened doors without asking.
Listened with his eyes.
Never rushed.
She wanted to understand
the world behind his silences —
so she scattered herself across
the pages of the books he loved,
tracing underlined sentences,
searching for fingerprints
in borrowed thoughts.
And quietly,
without permission,
she fell.
They built soft mornings —
half-spoken smiles,
the clink of cups,
laughter tucked into pillow folds,
light warming the floor
where no words were needed.
But he carried
carefully folded wounds:
a divorce,
a quiet betrayal,
sorrow pressed deep
beneath a practiced smile.
Time passed
as it always does,
and small things
grew teeth.
They argued,
not to win,
but to be seen.
To hold their truths
in the same room
without flinching.
But they were not ready.
Still learning
how to keep love safe
from the weight of their histories.
So they stepped back.
Gently.
With trembling hands
that had once held each other
without fear.
They don’t speak of it now.
But she keeps the book
with his notes in the margin
of page ninety-four.
And he still,
on certain quiet evenings,
pauses
as if listening for a voice
that once knew his name
better than he did.
Their paths parted —
but not their light.
That love,
soft and ancient,
still spills across their skies —
not fading,
but scattering
like the Milky Way:
separate,
but forever
part of the same night.
3
jun😈💜
おはようGRAVITYDamn… this heat just won’t quit
But tbh, since I’m that dude who’s crazy abt summer…
ngl, I don’t really hate it tho
Lowkey feels like ppl gonna think I’m a total weirdo
☁️
おはっ グラ!
にしても…しつこいなこの暑さ
ま, 夏大好き男の僕には… ☁️
実はそんな嫌でもないんやけどね[冷や汗]
ホンマ変人扱いされそうやけどね[泣き笑い]
Freakin confessed lol
I just go “yeah it’s hot af”
and be like “this heat’s killin me”
lowkey playin along tho…
白状したぁ[大笑い]
適当に
あっついなぁ〜
かなんなぁ〜
なんて合わしてるけど…
Lately when I feel that hint of fall in the mornings n nights
there’s this lil touch of… idk… kinda lonely vibe
summer just hits diff, i love summer…
朝晩感じる最近の秋の気配が ~🍂
一抹の… なんか…
さみしい感じなのよ[大泣き]
夏がいい…
#English #英語 #英会話 #夏
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donaiyanen
どないやねん？
毎日楽しく過ごせたらいい。
年齢 20歳以上100歳未満
住んでるところ 地球🌏
言語 関西弁
仕事 スポーツ関係
趣味
読書（歴史小説）
大東流合気柔術
ウォーキング
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なな
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柚子
主に夫の愚痴とかボディメイクとか犬とか。
心理学部卒の精神科ナースです。
アニメとか本とかダイエットとかメンヘラとか。出会い求めてない系です。
最近鬱・胸糞映画にハマってます。本、映画語りしたいです。
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ザヒー🫧❤️🔥
よろしくお願いします
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