A bouquet of roses rots in the kitchen, starts to decompose before my eyes. A bouquet of roses, the last remnants of you, and I know that there will be new roses, prettier roses, someday soon. I know that there will be new roses, prettier roses, because I walk past them on display for sale in gold wrapped gilded foil on the days that I go to the grocery store. I know that there will be new roses, prettier roses, just as there will be new loves, rosier loves, who will call themselves my lover, but none of those roses, and none of those loves will be as sweet as these, or will be as sweet as ours was. None of those roses will be quite as sweet as these, and so I’ll keep these until the last petal falls.
V.I.P.P. (via vacantinkandprettypink)
Beautiful 😍🥀





