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Metamorphosis of White



When it came to me that a loved one was gone,

It felt as though I were left behind.


Peripheral vision dyed red,


It was as if my body was shrinking,

making me unable to move.


But in fact, I am moving, living and creating.


“For Whom the Bell Tolls”


Somewhere the bell keeps ringing every day.

The sorrow is mine,

But it is not only for myself.


“For Whom the Bell Tolls"

I will embroider on the dress

Undelivered words and unforgettable thoughts

To a loved one who is no longer here.

I would like to embroider onto the “red vision” and

“lingering pain” of yours and mine,

And metamorphose it into a tranquil white.


Anyone can participate in this project.

If you wish to vent your words and thoughts that are left behind,

please write it down in the notebook.

I am going to embroider your thoughts onto this dress.

For Whom the Bell Tolls 


No man is an island, entire of itself;

every man is a piece of the continent, 

a part of the main.


If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less, as well as if a promontorywere,

as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were:

any man's death diminishes me,

because I am involved in mankind,

and therefore never send to know

for whom the bells tolls;

it tolls for thee.


John Donne

Devotions upon

Emergent Occasions, no. 17


1624 (published)

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