A Dying Bird and the Moon

I come from the smell of sweet apple pears… spicy, exciting hot pots, fulfilling tuna sweetcorn sandwiches and countless chocolate biscuits. I come from sugary milk teas, dark brown tapiocas, yellow puddings… transparent grass jellies, salted cheese cream, and red beans.

I come from a distant island with no human signs surrounded by ocean, on the back of a whale, enjoying the sound of nature and the happiness from isolation. I come from the hatred I feel from my unbearably vicious dog, every scar not from her pretty paws, but the way those angry eyes look at me.

I am a dying bird that has been well cared for less and less, slower and slower. My living signs fade away, as well as the righteous Ardor that used to burn in my chest. I come from incalculable random atoms from the infinite universe where every little star reflects the silver moonlight so we can see, even in the dark.

Devon 26/10/2021