583 B
583 B
Fresh Roses
Fresh roses smells like the flavor of tea interweaved through fruity sweet berries , whereas dead roses reminds me of the past---like rough, smoked, dry timber. While the fresh is restricted to the moment, the dead settles in eternity. One valued for its beauty and symbol for love, the other for its long-lived memories. Violet Rain, for dying is only apart of living, dying apart of living. There never was a choice, as they are all apart of one: Every sweet and sorrow, every fragment of past and future, exist here.