The luxury of love

From dust and sadness I’ve emerged with wings. Is it possible that like Icarus I’m flying too close to the sun? That I have let myself become so sublimely happy that it is only a matter of time before my wings of wax melt on my back? For it was only a few years ago I arrived here with holes in my jeans and no money in my pockets. Not a friend to call my own. Was it not those years ago I ran from heartache and believed I would never love again? Was it in another life that I slept in a room behind a night shop between the mice and desperation? How far I have come and how far I hope to go. Now my home is a home. It is warm and safe and I buy flowers for the kitchen. Instead of night shifts in the factory I sit by the fire and read my beloved Plath. Cold nights are banished to the past as my love and I fall asleep every night hand in hand. Perfection cannot be more than this. I pray to the Gods that it shall never end, that I may fly as close to the sun as I please, that another lonely day will never come. Let my bliss forever engulf me. Let my heart always be overflowing with the luxury of love.


The fatal flower is the perverted shy girl, the one you wouldn’t suspect. Under a soft exterior lies a complex being with an unyielding wildness, anchored to the earth by her humble nature and inexplicable dry humour. She is the femme of now, the modern woman who’s thoughts transcend through cultures and time.

Over the coming months let ‘La Fleur Fatale’ be your guide to the hidden insights and stories of a watchful woman’s eye navigating through the ‘European’ way of life. Struggles and mishaps ensue as life is embraced and the thorny introvert femme clammers for life’s answers. All possible subjects are covered from death to Kim Kardashian and from sisterhood to the perfect strawberry frappe.

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