Gentle and beautiful, flowers are the perfect statement in times of great significance. How graceful and elegant, as is the case when you see her. That trembling fear that embraces you and explodes with trickles of delight that roll down one’s countenance and temple of being. The corporal wonder that is only out shined by what magnificence consumes one’s soul. Had there only been words enough…but I love you…I love you does not satisfy all that dictates your existence, so splendorous around her, so enriched, so much power filling your whole universe.
A desire to disappear, that almost tragic impulse, to disappear so entirely into another until she is no longer an other at all. A hypnotic trance, a yoke that we willingly carry and love until it is part of us for an eternity. Until we are enveloped in blissful union – and yet…were you aware this can never be the case? That this flower has to be revived and tended to – that this satisfaction we seek is an eternal quest. A succulent journey that is a pleasure to go on, repeatedly, until exhaustion consumes one…then, then the whole process can repeat itself and once again the most divine of indulgences may commence.
This is the experience of her, this is what the story of the rose. Sweet, intricate, and delicate…it is the story of madness. The only madness that makes sense.