현주 공
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“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.” ~ Anaïs Nin

“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

The poison red rose. One prick of the finger, you could be poisoned to death. One smell, knocked out. One crunch of the pettle, a deadly thing to do.

LVIII

Billy Kidd (yes, the one from yesterday’s post) is a talented photographer. His series of decaying flowers is so moody and mysterious. He should really consider shooting for Bloom Magazine. Here are some of my favorite dying flowers shot by Billy Kidd.

Annamaria Germani                                 Ô toi, qui de ma mort fut cause,  Sans que tu puisses le chasser,  Toutes les nuits mon spectre rose  A ton chevet viendra danser.  Mais ne crains rien, je ne réclame  Ni messe ni De Profundis,   Ce léger parfum est mon âme  Et j’arrive du Paradis.

journalofanobody: Annamaria Germani For man, autumn is a time of harvesting, or gathering together. For nature it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad. Edwin Way Teale