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...a profound truth that our thoughts are far more than mere reflections of daily life. They are creators, dreamers, and shapers all at once. In the quiet realms of our minds, they unfold their strength, silent yet formidable, like a river carving the land. Each thought, whether small or grand, is a seed with the potential to shape reality. From it grow actions, from actions, habits, and from habits, the very foundation of our existence.
The power of thoughts is boundless, for they are not confined by the limits of the body. They transcend time and space, linking past to future, turning doubt into certainty, and hope into courage. Thoughts inspire us to soar to great heights, but they also call us to silence, to self-reflection, to the realization that our inner world profoundly influences the outer one.
Within each of us lies the potential to guide our thoughts with purpose and passion, consciously creating forms that strengthen us and illuminate our path.
⁛ May we learn to wield this power, with clarity, depth, and a dedication to what truly matters.
© 2026 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Δεν τον κοίταξε. Αν το έκανε, δεν θα έφευγε ποτέ.
Έμεινε ακίνητη, σαν να κρατούσε το σώμα της στη θέση του με τη θέληση μόνο, ενώ η ψυχή της είχε ήδη γυρίσει προς εκείνον.
Το χέρι του πάνω της… αρκετό για να θυμίζει
ότι κάποτε δεν υπήρχε “ανάμεσα”.
Τώρα υπάρχει... κάτι χειρότερο.
Ένας κόσμος φτιαγμένος από άλλους,
που δεν ξέρει τι σημαίνει να αγγίζεις και να μην σου επιτρέπεται να μείνεις.
«Θα είμαι για πάντα δίπλα σου…»
Η υπόσχεση δεν έσβησε.
Απλώς… δεν χωράει πια εδώ.
Τα μάτια της χάθηκαν μακριά για να μην προδώσουν
ότι ήδη ραγίζουν.
Κι εκείνος… δεν την κράτησε, γιατί την αγαπούσε αρκετά
για να μην την δέσει σε κάτι που δεν θα αντέξει το αύριο.
Κι έτσι… έμειναν για μια στιγμή ακόμα ενωμένοι
στο τελευταίο τους “τώρα”.
Ένα τώρα που δεν τελείωσε. Απλώς… δεν τους ανήκει πια.
⁛ Δεν έφυγαν ποτέ στ’ αλήθεια.
Απλώς έμαθαν να ζουν σε εκείνο το σημείο
όπου η σκέψη τους έγινε άγγιγμα
και το “ίσως” αρνείται να πεθάνει.
© 2026 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
There are moments that ask for nothing.
No permanence. No applause.
They arrive quietly, and if we are gentle enough, we notice them.
Calm is not something we force.
It settles when we stop chasing
and start allowing. Joy rarely shouts.
It sits lightly in the present
and waits to be welcomed.
And somehow, when we hold it softly,
more of it finds its way to us.
⁛ What you embrace with ease, grows.
© 2026 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
From the darkness to light
Beauty revealing itself slowly
The blooming of life
Emerging from the black
Fractal : Apophysis & PS/ CS2
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
Please have a look at my first book :
Two little sparrows, so nimble and delicate,
fly through the sky, bright and pure.
Their wings beat in gentle rhythm,
a pair of lovers who no one else can hold.
In the morning, they sing their sweet song,
tell each other of the happiness that awaits them.
Hidden in branches, in the sunlight,
they find comfort, their weight in their hearts.
Their eyes meet in flight,
a spark of love, so tender and wise.
They share seeds, share happiness,
find the most beautiful piece in their hearts.
When dusk envelops the world,
they stay close, in the warm image.
Two sparrows, in love, so free in the sky,
forever connected, just you and me.
© 2022 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Την περίμεναν ήδη ανυπόμονα να την ακούσουν, έτσι φαντάζονταν,
γιατί όταν η μικρή Ελισάβετ έπιανε την κιθάρα της γιαγιάς της,
όλη η στάνη σωπαίνονταν για ένα λεπτό.
Ήταν το πρώτο σοκ που έπρεπε να ξεπεράσουν τα ζωντανά.
Φόρεσε τα καλά της, στόλισε τα μαλλιά της,
κι ήταν πανέτοιμη να προχωρήσει στη νέα της διασκέδαση.
Είχε μεγάλα όνειρα, βλέπεις,
ήξερε ήδη πως όταν μεγαλώσει,
θα παίζει με “άγριο” ρυθμό τις χορδές της κιθάρας της,
εκεί πάνω στη σκηνή, όπου όλοι θα τη χειροκροτούν.
Γι’ αυτό και ένιωθε ήδη έτοιμη
να αντιμετωπίσει κάθε παλμό του ήχου,
ώστε να τον μετατρέψει σε αίσθημα.
Δίπλα της, η Μηλίτσα, η φίλη της, η κατσικούλα,
κούναγε το κεφάλι ρυθμικά.
Από μακριά φαινόταν πως της έδινε τον ρυθμό,
μα κανείς δεν ήξερε στ’ αλήθεια
αν το έκανε από ενθουσιασμό
ή αν είχε ήδη πάθει παραλήρημα και απώλεια ακοής.
⁛ Κάθε χαμόγελο είναι επανάσταση με δανικό αίσθημα
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi, All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
No one knew what lay at the top.
The light felt like an invitation—or a trap.
Each step erased something.
Breath was short, the backpack full of absences.
No direction.
Only the ancient gesture of climbing.
As if somewhere, high above,
something still had to happen.
________________________
Non si sapeva cosa ci fosse in cima.
La luce sembrava un invito, o una trappola.
Ogni scalino cancellava qualcosa.
Il fiato era corto, lo zaino pieno di assenze.
Nessuna direzione.
Solo il gesto antico del salire.
Come se da qualche parte, molto in alto, qualcosa dovesse ancora accadere.
Half warrior, half breath.
My spirit still stands, even when my body can’t.
And from that light below —
where nothing should shine —
rises my breath, entire and undefeated.
I still wear, now and then, the pants from my old Aikido uniform.
I was never a great Aikidoka, and truth be told, I never liked to fight.
Aikido, for me, was a beautiful game: a dance of balance, of listening, of energy flowing.
Then I had a serious accident, and now I can only do soft, gentle movements.
But something remains untouched.
Not the technique, not the belt, not the falls.
What remains is the spirit.
That can't be trained — and can't be taken away.
facebook.com/michelle.anne.robinson
“End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.” - J.R.R. Tolkien
Procamera, Snapseed, Stackables App
Un albero di Natale che si dissolve in luce dorata,
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A Christmas tree dissolving into golden light.
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7555
Inside the local fire engine museum.
From a short walk with photo friends at Beredskabsgården in Holstebro, Denmark - November 30, 2019.
It was neither departure,
nor return.
Only a slow drifting
through veils of water and mist.
The world had receded,
leaving afloat a boat,
a thought that found no shore.
The gull traced the sky
without urgency.
Behind, a thin wake.
Ahead, no promise.
Only that motionless echo
the sea, each time, pretends to keep.
-------------------------------------------
Lento disancorarsi
Non era partenza,
né ritorno.
Solo un lento scivolare
tra veli d’acqua e nebbia.
Il mondo si era ritirato,
lasciando in sospeso una barca,
un pensiero che non trovava riva.
Il gabbiano tagliava il cielo
senza urgenza.
Dietro, un solco sottile.
Davanti, nessuna promessa.
Solo quell’eco immobile
che il mare, ogni volta, finge di custodire.
A minimal presence, suspended in emptiness.
Light does not seek attention; it merely allows matter to exist.
In that fragile balance — between holding on and letting go —
time becomes visible, quietly.
Una presenza minima, sospesa nel vuoto.
La luce non cerca di emergere, serve solo a permettere alla materia di esistere.
È in quell’equilibrio fragile — tra ciò che trattiene e ciò che sta per cadere —
che il tempo si fa visibile, senza rumore.
Plastic people rush across liquid fields,
shovels raised, fingers pointed,
as if fate depended on every drop.
The unexpected falls
a tea, and suddenly the ego storms in
pushing, organizing, commanding,
while the heart quietly watches.
Every movement a drama,
every action exaggeratedly important,
though the world merely drips softly.
Yet, in the frenzy of tiny hands,
humanity mirrors itself
the urge to save, to control,
when all is half as serious as it seems.
The image stays silent,
porcelain calm untouched
and we chuckle softly,
at ourselves, at the miniature chaos,
at the power of a small ego
in the face of tiny catastrophes.
⁛ Sometimes, it’s not the small mess
it’s how loudly we react to it
© 2026 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
From a family Easter vacation at Skagen, Denmark - April 21, 2019.
Here we are in the area near Flagbakken and the sand-covered church.