Green grass and red skirts, a path paved with smooth stones stretching into the distance, towering Baroque buildings, and slow-moving clouds drifting overhead. Pigeons beat their wings with a flutter and soar into the sky.
You take my hand and walk with me here. Your backlit silhouette, your waving arms, your words and features scattered by the wind.
Until the last streak of bright red melts into a corner of the earth, until the final warmth slips off the glass windowsill, until the streetlights gradually come on, until the faint light of tomorrow's dawn, until the future we can foresee.
And at the very instant you appeared, the world began to brighten. The illusion of light and shadow merged. When a colossal pair of wings above us beat down, I raised my hand and held everything up. The border lay in my grasp, and I fashioned a world.
Let the bitter wind lash at me, let the blazing sunlight force its way in and wash over my cheeks.
You gave me a world. You, your hair in disarray, reached out your hand.
