Many crowns of violets, roses and crocuses… together you set before more and many scented wreaths made from blossoms around your soft throat…”
— Sappho, fr. 94

It begins with fragile acts of coexistence.
A petal, pressed. Words whispered and worlds gently becoming. A ghost, still painting. Tending to one soft thing at a time. 

Photo credits: Harriet Meyer