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Ça suffit ! Quand j'ai décidé d'essayer d'apprendre la langue française je ne connaissais personne qui aussi parle français, donc j'ai commencé en utilisant l'appli Duolingo (j'ai aussi acheté un cahier de grammaire). Pendant cette période, je faisais des progrès et je trouvais une rythme tous les jours où je m'entraînais avec un petit peu de discipline. Cependant, je devenais de plus en plus frustré car l'opportunité d'appliquer mes compétences ne s'est pas présentée et je n'augmentais pas mes capacités à utiliser la langue dans la vraie vie. Mais je n'arrêtais pas à cause de la séquence ! Aujourd'hui, j'ai obtenu une séquence de 1000 jours consécutifs, et je suis fini avec cette application. Maintenant, je veux améliorer mes compétences en français en parlant, en bavardant, et en discutant. Bien que je fasse encore souvent des erreurs, à mon avis, il faut utiliser la langue avec les autres pour progresser. Sinon, à quoi ça sert ?

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Roses and Wine She holds the glass as though it were an answer, though she no longer remembers the question. The wine moves like blood caught between the past and the present, thick with the weight of things unsaid. Each sip carries her deeper into the silence where his voice once lived. She drinks, not for warmth, but for the chill of memory. The roses are gone. Only a thorn or two remains, pressed inside forgotten pages where love once bloomed. She remembers how their fragrance clung to the air, how their color promised forever. Yet forever proved fragile, folding in on itself like petals bruised by time. She does not speak of him, for to speak would give shape to the wound. Instead, she waits—listening for footsteps that never come, tracing the rim of the glass as though it could summon him back. The wine stains her lips with the taste of regret, a reminder that passion once burned here, fierce and unyielding, before shadows claimed it. The night offers no comfort. It presses close, thick with whispers she cannot name. She feels his absence like a hand on her skin, both familiar and foreign, both tender and cruel. The roses withered; the wine soured. Yet longing does not fade—it grows sharper, heavier, refusing to let go. Somewhere in the silence, she raises the last glass to him. Not in forgiveness, not in farewell, but in surrender. For roses die and wine turns bitter, but sorrow—sorrow lingers. It weaves itself into the bones, settles in the breath, and becomes a language only the heart can speak. And so she drinks, not to forget, but to remember. Not to heal, but to remain broken— forever bound to roses and wine. ——— ❗️Disclaimer: This literary work is an original composition, created from personal reflections and emotions. The accompanying image is sourced from Pinterest and is used solely for artistic inspiration.

I will not waste my energy to explain myself anymore... The one who is your real fam will understand you ❤️🧚‍♀️😻 . . . . #happiness #love #peace #joy #forgiveness 🕊️🕊️

Anyone wants to pratice by voice