The inward sadness of convergence that is stuck on my forehead, she is my beloved;
I have called her in a story opposite the sun with a vague voice like a stranger, I did not realize when countless fairy tales began to gather in my mailbox like answers to anonymous letters. My cloudy eyes, waterless like a cactus, rain down, the water that dries up every day and becomes a desert, is lost in the crowd of countless sands….
Ghost Owl.
(Brown-fish Owl)
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