And I’m staring at this mouldy ceiling, wondering whether any story will start outside of the room. The paint was ripping and the dust was settling in but you found art in all of the flaws, made meaning from all of its brokenness. I wonder whether that was why you saw something in me, because when you found me, you saw how I could be put together. 

Maybe that was why I kept you near. Maybe that was why when time came, you didn’t leave like Winter but you left like a spring. 


But that’s why they call the rose beautiful


And they don’t stop calling her that.

Even when she’s tainted, closed off or on the brinks of an inevitable end. Because the moment she bloomed was the moment she’d be remembered for, forever.


The 7th of December 

Personal, Travel

A diary of our first and only day in Melbourne, best explained through a series of photographs.

In our time here, all three of us discovered a new sentiment for walking long distances. I mean after lugging our baggage around all day to find food or socially agreeable plots of land / sofas to wind down from sore feet, we’ve learned the sure-fire way to kill time and to expel the evidence of excessive indulgence. If only you saw the lineup of restaurants that we have visited or are planning to visit, you would probably feel body-conscious for us.



xoxo Paula