Furthermore, It Lingers Like A Razor At The Tip Of My Tongue All The Time. I Start To Feel Dangerous

In the case of anything implies more, it will be less in years to come. How life is significant but then... useless.

Genuine worth, unadulterated expectations of life; the terrible days and great. Those low and highs, of surprising good fortune.

So presently, here is the new day. The new life, the new implications, all things considered,

In the event that anytime, it will blur. Those recollections of joy and in the middle between are great forever.

“I’ve learned people are made of layers and sometimes you have to wait until the next one is revealed.”

— @sixwordssayitall

—Ostern'; Hasentag—

“Large conflicts make the world feel unmanageable and intangible to us. Nonetheless, there is a brilliant or dim light at the end of the tunnel. The mental tenacity that defines luminosity. If burned too brightly, it will burn out.”

Stepping onto her balcony was Angelina. Unaware that it had been some time since she last visited this specific plain. Also unfamiliar to her but ingrained in her consciousness. She let her delicate hands smooth away any potential rust by rubbing them against the shiny metal of the balcony railing. Standing, existing, and breathing in the air that around her felt almost strange. How brief life is, how it might be, yet how hospitable all the changes have been and will be.

Her blue eyes soaked up the sun's radiance, allowing the light to wash her. The brunette took off her silk top and leaned over the railing to get closer to the sun. Today was Easter, or rather, what Angelina jokingly mistook for "Bunny Day." As the gentle wind chilled her bones, the sun's heat seemed like dancing love coals on her face. What is there to do on a "Easter Sunday" that hasn't previously been done? It's safe to say that the stunning actress had penned a large number of poems, saved her work for her travels, and...had grown more aware of what she had missed. Missed in the absence sense. Her lips twisted into a half-smile as she thought back on the previous days.

“Ich bin verliebt in diese Saison … in das, was ich bin.” The German words, flowed freely from her mouth as she spoke to no one; just herself.

It was true. Angelina had developed a sense of who she was. Including all the complexities of existing, breathing, and loving. She was no longer just an actress. Much more, and it frequently made her afraid. She was now a writer for publications like TIMES, the Wall Street Journal, Global Traveler Inc., etc. But, she was now even closer to the love of her life, which made her giddy with happiness. Yet, Angelina had a strong urge to change with the season today.

Angelina found herself in the flower-filled garden before she knew what had happened. She had taken off her floral skirt and was now barefoot, only wearing her matching silk bra and underwear. Her skin blended with that earthy sensation and the alluring aroma of flowers, soil, and honeysuckle. The actress danced on the uncut, untrimmed grass and weeds, letting her hair blow in the wind. The exquisite flowers, with their open petals appearing to welcome her, gave her skin a slight tingle. The woman tipped her head back and giggled lowly, possibly in delirium, but with genuine ecstasy. It meant so much to her to stop, drop, and roll in this magnificent garden.

Throughout the house, Angelina had left her countless cameras, both used and unused. She looked up at the tempting sun with her legs crossed and her back close to the grass. Its rays are making her more endearing, complimenting her, and in Angelina's thinking, warming and praising her. Because there was no longer the mental pain of a conflict. Naturally, the pouty lip actress was aware that there would still be times when she would barely hang on and the need to lie in the garden would seem like an insurmountable obstacle. Not right now, though. Just her—no camera, no writing instruments. She, the flowers, the Planet, her thoughts, and this Easter Sunday's springtime.

Angelina would remain there, safe in the company of dandelion, rose, tulip, and other wild flowers—a garden of euphoric delight. Her hair was strewn across the grass, her eyes were innocently staring into the sun, and she was thinking only beautiful things. She would lie there on Easter Sunday and perhaps the following "Bunny Day" as well.

“...And if it burns out, it can always be re-lit. Be reignited, reconstructed by all and anything. No stipulation on time, no chain on creativity—and no stain on progress. Life is, in all ways, conflict and strife...but just enough love to make it a life.”

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬. 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞. 𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞.

Ja. Einzigartig. Das uralte Gedichtgerät. Schön.

Never again. And yet? It'll happen again. Fucked up but true— that's what happens when you let life, get the best of you. Cold hearted, bitter and tear stained, so in the end it happened like I imagined and I hurt myself again. Better off just keeping memories and moving on. Conflicted soul, torn thoughts and often alone. That's what happens when life leads us. Be prepared. Be aware. And...never...

Angelina Jolie by Michel Bourquard; 1994

ANGELINA JOLIE  Gia, 1998  – dir. Michael Cristofer

The real world is no stranger to us, nor is yesterday's hurt any deeper. Unlike yesterday, we can look forward to a better tomorrow. And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, is a classic repeat?

We were prepared for failure. We hoped for destruction. We were on the cusp of disassembly. These hopes now will not plague us tomorrow. Tomorrow is the only one we have.The future is what's right.

To be a rose. To be a rose. To be.