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11/30/2018
Profuma
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Profuma
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5
Melancholy
In comparison: Angel in its original form: in my nose, heart and soul a wave of melancholy, thickly wrapping, almost spinning, sticking the threads and not letting go, a suction of deepest mysticism at the abyss to sadness, pulling down, in a flood of turbidity I finally sink into it. Emotionally. Intensive black. Tons heavy...yet...magical-fascinating. I'm falling into a trap. Angel in his original form.
La Rose Angel: The darkness slightly turned away, but still the typical Angel DNA in the blood, in the beginning a flare of hope, almost exhilarated, a smile, nevertheless more breathed up than done, scurries over the face of this creature, only to find back to his original genes in the next moment and let the corners of his mouth sink again. Angel stays Angel to me, no matter what you contribute.
In the beginning, pepper and bergamot are only able to counteract easily. A very ripe plum and a darkest rose, after a few moments of glimmer of hope, take hold of an exhilarated angel, the same at his wings, and, suffocating the flight that has begun, push it back to the ground. Without understanding, the winged one looks skywards. How he would have liked to have climbed up into the air, turning his circles under the azure sky, feeling the breezes in his feathers and letting his skin caress with the warmth of the sun. But now he kneels conquered at the bottom, the longing tears his painful heart apart and there it is again. This feeling that many Angels have given me. This melancholy. Afflictive. Precipitating. The dark chocolate that is given to me as a consolation does not comfort me, on the contrary. The longer I nibble at her, the more I feel the darkness approaching again.
Unfortunately, I am also denied access to a more luminous scent experience with this fishing rod. His mixtures overwhelm my senses and mercilessly guide my thoughts towards the already distant cloudiness.
La Rose Angel, which shows a promising bright flare for a moment (for my fishing terms) due to its opening with the top note, gradually falls back into the dreaded melancholy.
To be able to carry it, I would have to be in absolute and dopter top form and my state of mind sky-high cheering and irrefutably screwed to my soul, in order to be able to defy the willpower of the pink camouflaged water with deep red soul.
I'd like to hope so! Hope for an angel who rises up, is cheerful and more cheerful than his ancestors. But until the time has come, I wait for him and cherish the anticipation that he will then take me by the hand on his flight and finally transform my inexhaustible search into the long awaited salvation...
How I would like to taste of the sweet, juicy, flowery things that are so finely described here. But my perception is completely different.
So...! Enough lamenting...!
I'm going to have a nice cup of coffee...for my soul...!
La Rose Angel: The darkness slightly turned away, but still the typical Angel DNA in the blood, in the beginning a flare of hope, almost exhilarated, a smile, nevertheless more breathed up than done, scurries over the face of this creature, only to find back to his original genes in the next moment and let the corners of his mouth sink again. Angel stays Angel to me, no matter what you contribute.
In the beginning, pepper and bergamot are only able to counteract easily. A very ripe plum and a darkest rose, after a few moments of glimmer of hope, take hold of an exhilarated angel, the same at his wings, and, suffocating the flight that has begun, push it back to the ground. Without understanding, the winged one looks skywards. How he would have liked to have climbed up into the air, turning his circles under the azure sky, feeling the breezes in his feathers and letting his skin caress with the warmth of the sun. But now he kneels conquered at the bottom, the longing tears his painful heart apart and there it is again. This feeling that many Angels have given me. This melancholy. Afflictive. Precipitating. The dark chocolate that is given to me as a consolation does not comfort me, on the contrary. The longer I nibble at her, the more I feel the darkness approaching again.
Unfortunately, I am also denied access to a more luminous scent experience with this fishing rod. His mixtures overwhelm my senses and mercilessly guide my thoughts towards the already distant cloudiness.
La Rose Angel, which shows a promising bright flare for a moment (for my fishing terms) due to its opening with the top note, gradually falls back into the dreaded melancholy.
To be able to carry it, I would have to be in absolute and dopter top form and my state of mind sky-high cheering and irrefutably screwed to my soul, in order to be able to defy the willpower of the pink camouflaged water with deep red soul.
I'd like to hope so! Hope for an angel who rises up, is cheerful and more cheerful than his ancestors. But until the time has come, I wait for him and cherish the anticipation that he will then take me by the hand on his flight and finally transform my inexhaustible search into the long awaited salvation...
How I would like to taste of the sweet, juicy, flowery things that are so finely described here. But my perception is completely different.
So...! Enough lamenting...!
I'm going to have a nice cup of coffee...for my soul...!
