I really, really love this print. The moment I saw it, I just felt it. There’s something so sad and empty and utterly beautiful in that desolate blue way about this picture.
The starkness in her eyes. The emptiness on her face. The sheer beauty in the almost absent-minded gentle-cruel way she is holding the butterfly.
It’s about the delicacy of pain.
It’s about treading that balance between feeling pain and inflicting it. It’s about an almost inhuman, ethereal desire to radiate pain so that the rest of the world understands. Or maybe it’s to give away the pain. Or maybe it’s about adding pain to pain so that it’s blinding and nothing else would matter.
Everyone attempts that balance.
Tear me. Apart. Completely.
So I may somehow find the pieces again.
holy girl. you just tore me to pieces over your entry.
Lately… I’ve read your entries and wanted to say… *something* helpful or reassuring or wise… but I reread your entries and I come up blank.
So instead I offer hugs. Unhelpful, useless, hugs. But well meant all the same.