the sweet poisonous eau d’nostalgia.

beauty does not exist to be destroyed, it lives to be transformed. 

repeating improvisations, its nature lies in ephemerality.

with no consistency, these moments remain intangible.

as we try to articulate its importance, its performance has ended. 

we try to recreate its presence with triggers, but we compromise its quality 

by living in concrete motion.

our desires drive this motion, and so do our eager distractions.