EFFECT.

 

 

The inorganic air of the translucent twilight city.

The lonely leaves fallen from the roadside trees covering the ground.

A faint warmth passed from cold hand to cold hand.

 

These tiny fragments of memory

contained the present.

 

 

Flickering lights reflected in an abstract liquid.

Memories dissolving into each passing moment.

 

 

What seemed vague and unrelated

was, in fact, interconnected.

 

The landscape I see now exists

because these things have been spun together.

 

What I touched then was the most valuable thing for a single world.

 

 

When I shift my gaze beyond memory,

the scenery is painted in pale, uncertain colors.

 

In that sky, like leaves blown by the wind,

many butterflies, at times unbound,

continue to flutter and dance.

 

 

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