fyn gula "who is she?" i asked. no one knew.

so i observed like a bird who lands on the bare branch of a century old walnut tree, wondering silently if he is far enough from the stray cat's reach.

surrounded by princes of kingdoms burned to the ground, she moved in slow motion, they in contrary revolution.

so, i flew closer and she caught me in her hand, stroking my feathers, curious of the scheme of my colors. letting go, she stepped into the whirlpool they became and in seconds was swallowed by the merciless vortex.

i could do nothing but sing forth the beauty. i could not forgive myself for avoiding your memory.
what's it to you?
who go