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The Sketch, London, 15 May 15, 1912

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Grief hit first. A raw, iron-heavy ache that hadn’t dulled with centuries. It clung to bones older than stone circles, filled with the smell of peat fires and blood offerings and the distant wail of dying gods

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Remember

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I don't know how, but everything went to shit.

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…maybe I’ve always been more comfortable in chaos…

Florence Welch 

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Pianist (painting), 2017

by Valeria Lakrisenko.

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Spleen et Idéal - 1907 - Carlos Schwabe

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I kissed him as we were studying and I felt febrific. Pressing my hands against flash cards and flesh.

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He’s been keeping me up since the sun went down.

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A difficult task if you don’t provide space.

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I waisted too many poems about you.

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Dolce & Gabbana

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If he breaks your heart again darling... won’t you let me pick up the pieces instead?