Threading all its remnants and sweetness, the pottery made for flowers and the flowers bought to live, and open air to breathe in. Among the fickle thoughts there lies a permanent station, a run on sentence about loving.
“Bear fruit and give life as you blow, with your hands out of your pockets. From dirty roots we remove ourselves, no longer thinking ugly. All time flows, giving life. Ignite a fire, flaming soul. No longer cold, give life. Revive your soul and paint the world.”—Sigur Rós (via light-essence)