‘Melancholia,

After melancholia my breath be still,

where whispering waters, and by the hinds of the field,

meet again throughout the merciful waltz.

Walk with me until we get lost in love

with the pale bright lights. The tree

that resembles our wavering hearts.

You are my only reason to stay alive

as I wish for my undying rebirth.

Hold my hand, and guide me with my prayers

of hope and a sense of nearing.

In between reality there we sought

for our eclipse in the night. Thus,

flee among the worlds into a place where we cry

and fail to recall our very first presence.

‘This Sunday,

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