Drinking poison from a flower that never stung. No forewarning. The flower appeared in the garden of my mind. Born sick. Damaged love, but free of death.
There's something tragic about sadness in spring. Everything is budding to life and you're dying inside.
I knew that look, eyes always seeking. A lust for life, but an internal penchant for self-destruction. To want to live so badly, but at the same time, to not want life at all.
It was too much, the seasons, the smells, the trees, the opening of a flower. If only to return inside the mind, where everything was withering, dying.
This was her quality. Her magic trick. She desired the world so much in fact that she convinced herself that she did not want it all.
two-piece set by Smoke + Rose
necklace by Love + Leather
photos by Christina Emilie