@elostorra: يبقا وجب علينا حق الانتداب 😎 #fyp #foryoupage #viral #حالات_واتس #قصف_جبهات😎🚬 #غدر #خيانة #صحاب

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Tuesday 20 May 2025 12:00:00 GMT
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hussein_hr1
𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐍 :
إسم الفيلم أو المسلسل
2025-05-20 14:38:16
4
zenta259
zentani :
يعني ايه طلوش؟
2025-05-20 20:04:43
1
kemokemo7601
Kimo😉★★★★★ :
مسلسل حديد ♥️
2025-05-20 15:26:36
2
abdomohamed76v
إآبـــــنً اآلـــًلـًيـًـل🌒🦅 :
عمرو سعد افضل فيلم ليه كان حديد بعد كدا مجاش تاني
2025-05-21 22:42:42
1
poha.1
بـــــوحــه ❤️‍🩹 :
يبق وجب علينا حق الانتداب🫡
2025-05-20 15:12:11
0
khldmkky
ي حظ من قلبه (خالد)❤️ :
اسم الفيلم
2025-05-20 12:59:20
1
elzoz__gta
الـــ🎬ـــزوز جــــ😈ــاتــا :
ده الترند بتاعى 😂
2025-05-22 16:25:52
1
casadipapel111
casadipapel111 :
nom
2025-05-20 19:24:14
0
kemokemo7601
Kimo😉★★★★★ :
اللي داخل يشووف الكومنتات يجي جمبي 😂♥️
2025-05-20 15:26:58
1
azrael00077
AZRAEL :
@palermo
2025-05-20 18:48:14
1
azab..1
azab..1 :
@Ahmed El batran 😂😂
2025-05-21 01:52:09
0
atiayasser6
Atia✨ .. :
@ahmed99
2025-05-20 20:04:56
0
omaraboalyazed
عمر :
@SoNS⚽🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿
2025-05-20 18:42:32
0
mohamed.abdelrazi12
Mohamed Abdelrazik :
😂
2025-09-03 12:58:15
0
user7771478222280
آبہؤ شہحہتہؤتہ :
🥰🥰🥰
2025-08-07 11:29:13
0
user79985815179776
عبد الرحمن عساف :
🥰🥰🥰
2025-08-05 21:10:44
0
user8108847461999
محمد احمد درويش :
❤️❤️❤️
2025-07-18 17:30:39
0
narakech
marakech :
💪
2025-07-15 16:39:46
0
narakech
marakech :
💪
2025-07-15 16:39:54
0
narakech
marakech :
✌️
2025-07-15 16:39:56
0
narakech
marakech :
✌️
2025-07-15 16:39:52
0
narakech
marakech :
💪
2025-07-15 16:39:55
0
narakech
marakech :
💪
2025-07-15 16:39:56
0
narakech
marakech :
✌️
2025-07-15 16:39:55
0
narakech
marakech :
✌️
2025-07-15 16:39:54
0
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They say there once lived a man who painted with the fire of the sun and the sorrow of the stars. He was not of this world, though he walked among us. His name was whispered by the winds that crossed golden fields—Vincent. He wandered through the earth like a forgotten god, exiled from Olympus. But he did not seek revenge or worship. He sought only to see the world as it truly was—raw, trembling, alive. In a quiet corner of France, where the wheat bowed like pilgrims and the crows flew like omens, Vincent found a sacred place. A field so bright, so endless, it seemed to stretch into eternity. Locals avoided it. Said the winds there whispered madness. But Vincent—he listened. They say he spoke to the wheat, and it answered. That his brush captured not the image of the field, but its soul. And in his final days, as twilight fell over his mind like a closing curtain, Vincent painted the field again and again—as if he were writing a letter to the afterlife. Crows circled above. The sky opened like a wound. The colors bled from his heart. Some say the field claimed him in the end. That he vanished into the canvas, swallowed by gold and blue. Others say he became the field. That every time the wind rustles the wheat, you can hear him still—whispering with the voice of color, the language of light, the fury of beauty. He wasn't a man. He was a myth in motion. And Wheatfield with Crows was his final prophecy. #artmystery #artoftheday #painting #arthistory #fairytalecore #arttoker #fyp #theartist #brushandtales #foryoupagе #vincentcangogh #artist
They say there once lived a man who painted with the fire of the sun and the sorrow of the stars. He was not of this world, though he walked among us. His name was whispered by the winds that crossed golden fields—Vincent. He wandered through the earth like a forgotten god, exiled from Olympus. But he did not seek revenge or worship. He sought only to see the world as it truly was—raw, trembling, alive. In a quiet corner of France, where the wheat bowed like pilgrims and the crows flew like omens, Vincent found a sacred place. A field so bright, so endless, it seemed to stretch into eternity. Locals avoided it. Said the winds there whispered madness. But Vincent—he listened. They say he spoke to the wheat, and it answered. That his brush captured not the image of the field, but its soul. And in his final days, as twilight fell over his mind like a closing curtain, Vincent painted the field again and again—as if he were writing a letter to the afterlife. Crows circled above. The sky opened like a wound. The colors bled from his heart. Some say the field claimed him in the end. That he vanished into the canvas, swallowed by gold and blue. Others say he became the field. That every time the wind rustles the wheat, you can hear him still—whispering with the voice of color, the language of light, the fury of beauty. He wasn't a man. He was a myth in motion. And Wheatfield with Crows was his final prophecy. #artmystery #artoftheday #painting #arthistory #fairytalecore #arttoker #fyp #theartist #brushandtales #foryoupagе #vincentcangogh #artist

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