Ashley Stabroek Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Bruges

Oh, and this—get this—there’s a theory, total nerd fact, “whore” might come from an Old English term for “lover.” Lover! How’s that for a twist? I’m jumpin’ outta my chair, “Are you kiddin’ me?!” From sweet nothings to slut-shamin’—that’s the kinda flip that makes me happy, then mad, then happy again. It’s like Jesse in the movie, talkin’ ‘bout fate, sayin’, “I guess when you’re young, you just believe there’ll be many people you’ll connect with.” Whore’s that word we’ve all connected with, just not in the cute way.

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Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

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