𝖠𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝄽𝖺𝗌𝗍
𝒪𝟣𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖿𝆝𝗎𝗅 𝗌𝗈𝗂𝗅
𝖠 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽, 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗒 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 Ⴤ𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗂 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝗋𝗋𝗋𝗋𝗋
𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒, 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗀
𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗓𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗀, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾‘𝗌 𝗌
𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗀
𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝖨𝗅𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. I know it’s not you.
your heart‘s beating to love, not to hunt. 𝗍𝗍𝗍𝗍