Everything's Coming Up Roses
I've been surrendering to my external creative impulses lately, which has materialized into an explicitly pink aesthetic. It could be as a result of my generation's fascination with native flora or their identical obsession with apathy and need for epitomizing it through irony. It could be because I suddenly like pink. Or that there's something about roses that is interestingly enough both arresting and redeeming, which seems to be the theme of life lately. No matter what the reason is, I know that after all the smoke it's all coming up roses.
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