“Pictures to be taken of a few moments before the final gust pushed itself from her lungs, made as mementos for my eternal keeping. If not to burn of grief, then to always look upon them, even to my own mind, for sight upon memorial. Love sings, with notes of no words added, being of just the air we breathe of so many we could have shared our glances. Our thoughts would become theirs, with death always as the roots beneath our feet.”
– Modern Romanticism – “Always, these Shadows”