Memory is a cruel mistress. She plays the happy recollections like an old silent movie, black and white, sped up and set to jaunty tunes, while the saddest and most painful occasions of our lives are played in full technicolour, in slow motion, with haunting melodies sweeping through the soundscape. Not a moment, not a feeling is left out, branding the hurt on our souls over and over again.
Wood buffed to a bright sheen, chrome handles and fittings.
A hundred roses perched on top.
Gilded robes and hats, stained glass windows.
Grieving family and friends.
Humorous anecdotes, words of sorrow and farewell.
Candles gutter in the breeze, the organ plays.
Tears flow, songs are sung.
A life cut short, people left behind.
Questions asked, some unanswered.
HOLY SHIT WHEN YOU HOLD DOWN ALT AND CLICK REBLOG
HOLY SHIT„„„„
option on mac. I mean, it’s not like, mindboggling but it’s pretty cool.
About me
I love the amazing variety of sights around us - some of what I post is my own work, I also love to share others. I also love how images evoke emotions. And I'm in love with Tom Felton!
