Sun Moon Stars Karl Lagerfeld 1994 Eau de Toilette
10
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Lacrimae rerum...
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
Her name was not Annabel Lee, but the one which exemplifies beauty since antiquity and brought Troy to its knees. And I guess her sparkling aura was the sun missing from E.A.Poe's immortal elegy.
And now she's gone...
The lodestar of five wonderful years of my life has stopped twinkling. And the perfume which was once the epitome of immense tenderness and fearless devotion has now become a lachrymose memento mori.
She was living in Sweden for some years now. I believe she somehow belonged there, for, despite coming from the easternmost part of the Mediterranean, she was a tall blond green-eyed Valkyrie.
I still remember the day when she stormed our tiny appartment some 20 years ago, looking forward to show me her newfound objet d'art. She was like a night witch caught red-handed in broad daylight with a blue sphere of rather questionable intents in her hands. I couldn't help but admit that what she was holding looked and smelled so very beautiful, but still, I asked her what was it that she found so irresistible about it.
"First of all its name keeps my alien heart dreaming. Then, I love the idea of holding a tiny cerulean cosmos in my hand and be its ruly queen. Oh, and this is where I shall be roaming when I'll leave this planet...in a hundred years from now."
She left at 42, 80 years short of her giggling expectation. I guess she could no longer resist the skies beckoning her.
She fought bravely till the end.
I sank in a corner, rerunning the reel of our time together in the theatre of my mind. Drowsy mornings, lazy noons, wistful evenings, tender nights, quirky days, sweet cravings, hilarious fights, all reeking with Sun, Moon, Stars, the perfume she loved the most. I won't label it as her signature, for her true signature was her mere existence, knocking silly my enamoured heart. When I raised my head anew the night had already began to unfold its inky, condoling tentacles all around me. I can't recall another time of my life being spent in such an "idle" way but I guess I can't recall such a cataclysmic downpour of memories either.
I sprayed some of her tiny cosmos on me and hit the streets, melting in the warm Greek summer night that she will never feel again. I'm sure she'd never want me to shed a tear for her, but this is her only wish that I find impossible to grant.
Farewell my beautiful sköldmö. Please don't be sad that hereafter my gothic heart shall always be a little more gothic forevermore. I hope you'll find peace someplace between Mount Olympus and Valhalla. Someplace amongst Suns...Moons...Stars...
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
Her name was not Annabel Lee, but the one which exemplifies beauty since antiquity and brought Troy to its knees. And I guess her sparkling aura was the sun missing from E.A.Poe's immortal elegy.
And now she's gone...
The lodestar of five wonderful years of my life has stopped twinkling. And the perfume which was once the epitome of immense tenderness and fearless devotion has now become a lachrymose memento mori.
She was living in Sweden for some years now. I believe she somehow belonged there, for, despite coming from the easternmost part of the Mediterranean, she was a tall blond green-eyed Valkyrie.
I still remember the day when she stormed our tiny appartment some 20 years ago, looking forward to show me her newfound objet d'art. She was like a night witch caught red-handed in broad daylight with a blue sphere of rather questionable intents in her hands. I couldn't help but admit that what she was holding looked and smelled so very beautiful, but still, I asked her what was it that she found so irresistible about it.
"First of all its name keeps my alien heart dreaming. Then, I love the idea of holding a tiny cerulean cosmos in my hand and be its ruly queen. Oh, and this is where I shall be roaming when I'll leave this planet...in a hundred years from now."
She left at 42, 80 years short of her giggling expectation. I guess she could no longer resist the skies beckoning her.
She fought bravely till the end.
I sank in a corner, rerunning the reel of our time together in the theatre of my mind. Drowsy mornings, lazy noons, wistful evenings, tender nights, quirky days, sweet cravings, hilarious fights, all reeking with Sun, Moon, Stars, the perfume she loved the most. I won't label it as her signature, for her true signature was her mere existence, knocking silly my enamoured heart. When I raised my head anew the night had already began to unfold its inky, condoling tentacles all around me. I can't recall another time of my life being spent in such an "idle" way but I guess I can't recall such a cataclysmic downpour of memories either.
I sprayed some of her tiny cosmos on me and hit the streets, melting in the warm Greek summer night that she will never feel again. I'm sure she'd never want me to shed a tear for her, but this is her only wish that I find impossible to grant.
Farewell my beautiful sköldmö. Please don't be sad that hereafter my gothic heart shall always be a little more gothic forevermore. I hope you'll find peace someplace between Mount Olympus and Valhalla. Someplace amongst Suns...Moons...Stars...
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GothicHeart
