There are days when my happiness depresses me.
There is an ugliness to perfection - it is too obvious, too ostentatious. To be beautiful is to be damaged, in subtle and irreparable ways.
Like the wings of the butterfly crushed to pure color. Or the mournful call of the cello that knows itself alone.
It begins to hurt when I think for too long about these words!
Hauntingly beautiful words...
Bought your book at last. Maybe now you will marry me.
Only destruction can lead to creation. And every subsequent creation is far more beautiful. what more can one ask for ?
returning to the source is the most b'ful aspect of creation.
stolen thoughts, from my head
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