Winter touches us in ways that hands never could.

Memory is just our imagination

The little grains of sand that fill our hourglass each have universes of their own.

“Some creatures never grow lungs; they breathe through their skin.” — Wysteria

Swiped from @sin.xline

A thousand butterflies swarm the blooming lavender. The swish of wings little more than a hush of silence. Flitting to and fro supping from the waning nectar and Gleefully bounding away in to the sunset to Find a perch whereupon to spend the coming night.

A magnificently honest rendering of low self esteem.

Some memories never fade, only get lost in the well of time.

“The frost is heaven’s first applause.”