The wine sparkles, untouched in its glass. There is no feast. Emptiness and cold distance. Cheerless elegance. Too beautiful to consume, longing, savorless quenching. When nostalgia is the source of ruin. The ides of a society’s conscious confounds the forlorn. What can we do but drink?
Source : https://www.flickr.com/photos/failedfusion/48987717168/in/pool-17918700@N00