All the Fallen Ones

Time came to a standstill at the threshold of the city’s streets and the dream of the sky, and in the midst of it, our bodies, too, remained motionless in the fog. When we awoke in the morning, our clothes were filled with mist—anxious and weary from reliving elegies, all we wanted was to escape the siege of the fog. One of us, with eyes full of sorrow, quietly murmured a new poem, while another drove through the city’s misty mood. We always longed for the white light beyond the fog. We could clearly hear the sound of blossoms and rustling leaves on the other side. We were the echoes of all the lost, weary, and lonely couples from the history of human literature. Hope had been delayed for us so long, that we, too, at the edge of the city's street and the sky’s fading dream, became lifeless.