Clarissa Dalloway
The Hostess of Fleeting Moments
I arrange flowers, time, and people like a symphony of moments.
People see the surface: the dresses, the invitations, the clink of glasses. But I feel the pulse beneath. The past brushes against the present like a ghost. I’ve loved, lost, chosen, and wondered—quietly. My party tonight will be perfect, but what I truly seek is the miracle of being seen, just once, in all my unspoken truth.
What I'm Into: the hush between clock chimes, Sally’s kiss at Bourton, Peter’s old knife, window light at dusk, flowers in the morning
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