White Roses, It Has Always Been White Roses, With Their Inscrutable Faces And Slender Thorns, The Grotesque

i had an idea for a poem a little while ago but it got lost in life, in time, under a chair, under the blankets, outside a frosty window, beneath a quiet floorboard, under my tongue, inside your eyes

A shade of green, the colour of a mid-July swimming pool by the sea at sunset, the colour of lush forests, soothing, comforting, yet so intense a shadow just beneath the surface, lurking fleetingly by the corners, somehow synonymous with the gradual lavender that covers the sky at dawn.

In the incomprehensible maze of personhood, somewhere in me there is a tangle whose causal knot is you.

while reading virginia woolf in class, my university professor mentioned how most victorian women often wrote about going to the sea and one of the most common theories behind it was that the sea symbolises a mother's womb and hence, their desire to crawl back into it. i wonder why, even to this day, we all find a sense of solitude by the sea, almost as if the world around us doesn't exist.

Limerence is a word i have been looking for for a long time.

sorry i never replied. everyday is blending together and im losing sense of time

2022-06-18

Hydrangea

Canon EOS R3 + RF50mm f1.2L

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