Rose petals are an alluring food: at first bitter, then sweet, then bitter again as the fibers dispense and the sugars disperse, then a hunt for sweetness ensues with the tip of your tongue, searching: nectar? Powdered yellow-orange to dye your lover's lips later, that's pollen. Something wet — bite down hard with your incisors, the four straight ahead in your mouth, frontal assault and no, that's your lip, you're bleeding now. Why are you doing this, again? Was it worth it? But then another rose petal falls, another, into your open mouth and there you are again, biting straight down, devouring yourself from the inside: insatiable, insufferable, indomitable in your thirst unquenchable. And here you are, writing something maybe beautiful and maybe delicious, a rose petal, a work to the WL. Welcome.
-Styg
What is life if not the contrast between what has been and what will become?
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