as if hope and heart could meet, as if they might dance themselves out of the dark

The paper blushes, beads of sweat from that aftermath of love.

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La poésie a inventé le monde, le monde, elle l'a oublié.
(Poetry invented the world; the world it then forgot.)

～Yiannis Ritsos

leg image via Mikio Watanabe

The Meaning of Simplicity (translated by Rae Dalven), via Poetry Foundation

艾未未，白瓷花。(via @aiww Instagram)

Ai Weiwei, “Blossom” (via @for_site & @george_fikry Instagram)

image via @nicamille Instagram

The music of memento mori：薔薇，無常。

花開花落：The reverie of mono no aware...

Breathing out their swansong. “A flower is perfect, when it is almost old.” An old favourite photograph I took of a rose bouquet I brought home. After having balleted through their beautiful efflorescence, these softly rouged petals dreamed their eventual, eternal slumber scattered upon my piano.

Poetry in the melodies of Eudaimonia’s sigh of bliss.

無常: “we embrace a shadow and love a dream”

Beauty exists because perfection does not. What is beautiful and alluring is not perfect, and what mesmerises and arrests, is illusion.

Transience: a rose in bloom
*image via Lili Price

*Post title in English is taken from Doctor Glas by Hjalmar Söderberg: “We know so little about one another. We embrace a shadow and love a dream.”

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“[...] I have got new curtains for my study; pure white. When I awoke this morning, I first thought it had been snowing. In my room the light was exactly as it is after the first fall of snow. I even fancied I caught the scent of snow freshly fallen. And soon it will come, the snow. One feels it in the air. 
It will be welcome. Let it come. Let it fall.” 

― Hjalmar Söderberg, Doctor Glas