The Milky Way

I’ve always liked white. Absence of color, dim presence, crisp and minimal. Maybe that’s why I’ve also enjoyed drinking cold milk. It provided sort of relief.  At summer nights I was sky gazing with my dad as he was making stories about interstellar dust. That hazy white light of the galaxy mesmerizing in its radiant stelliform glow; and it wasn’t long before Eels “Daisies of the Galaxy” became the tune I was restlessly humming in my head during dark blue nights. “I'll pick some daisies from the flower bed of the galaxy theater while you clear your head I thought some daisies might cheer you up” I’m still that person a true follower in the alabaster direction of the galaxy towards the brightest constellations. My fiancé says that if one looks carefully at the shape of elegant peplum flaring at the waist of any stellar girl, inclined about 60 degrees to the ecliptic, might easily mistake it as a rocket aiming towards the sky rising high when the moon is below the horizon. That’s my milky way, a heart-melter of minimalism within an avant-garde dream.

Wearing: Peplum, suit and heels Zara, neckpiece H&M, sunnies Vans