My secret garden...its memories smell like pines, flowers, wet grass, fruits and flowers...Its memories sound like childrens' laughs, music, leaves moved by the wind, rain and birds. When I touched it I could feel the roughness of the barks, the softness of the stray cats, the spikes of the shy and sweets hedgehogs, the grass, the leaves, how much it hurt when bees stung me for the first time, when a butterfly lay on my hair, when a dragonfly fell in love with my neck, and when a rose decided to pierce my finger, camuflaging her stunning color with my blood. My secret garden is gone but it's still alive in my mind, in my memories, in my soul.
Cemeteries in the wintertime have a very special kind of energy to me. Here’s another photo of mine, taken at a local cemetery last winter! What weather do you think makes the best graveyard photos? - Celeste (@llittle.ghostt) ⚰️🥀🌨
Memories from holiday of: @pixelquadrat
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