They don't know the depth of a preserved pain hid in a chest like a pickle, it turns sour every passing season and I think of the silhouettes of those on the dilapidated alley where they would meet how many would they become two or four? or ne and the zest of orange lingers on the end of my tongue like I would wail any second or gulp it down in the other thinking of the childhood innocence of welcoming your sibling as they return from a long ride, to hop on the backseat to breathe in the freshness of an October evening

It smells like smoke like air mingling with the dust on stagnant leaves the ones left, the ones fallen the air smells sweet Too sweet perhaps as if seducing me of the sweetness that exists outside while dust settles on my lungs debarring it of breath

Raindrops stuck on leaves, inside flowers putting blemishes on them as if infecting their lives the morning holds a new stiller silence chattering chaos heard but distant

The sky turns from dark to deep sea blue and now to the sea itself slowly I see its reflection on the white marble a blue light as if the torch bearer of the sun I think, I believe and then I yield the sun sheds no warmth no light transcends a darkness denuded prevails within me like the winter dew quivering with flakes it paralyses my insides, a numb me thus lain I wish believing was the only necessity my reason soughing anywhere except within.