Must the fulfillment of the human spirit, of the artist’s aspirations, of the muse’s devotion rely upon the hourglass? Grains of sand slipping inchmeal into temporal cavities—turning to dust as the years dwindle.
Surrendering your love to the world: an ascetic sacrifice that feels more like an oblation than a mere worldly offering, and although it may look like nothing has changed, everything you once held sacred has become meaningless.
Memory of a time and place that no longer exist…