Sometimes I come to you into your planet. I kick the bones from the pathway. I see my tired and weary face in the puddle of blood. Unseeing eyes. I open my chest. I let my heart feel the vivacity of autumn. I think of us. And of our unborn children. I would like you to once more die and return to me. I would like. How many things fill into this proposition. Our tortures, long sleepless nights. Offence and laughter. Sharp as if knives teeth, devouring the most intimate body parts. A terrible thirst will commence and a hatred in the eyes. How much can a person hate and love at the same time. I light the candle and leave. I am followed by a memorial stone you threw and it presses me down to the ground. 


You're a fingertip away. But I don't feel myself anymore. How odd; I feel you, but not myself. It is so eccentric and unnatural to everything I have been before; myself, me, solely I.


Oh, wait. There it is. The rest of the Širvys has just arrived. I am waiting. Waiting. For something. To come. Leaving the doors. Completely unclosed. Emptiness. Eerie. A thief could... at least, lose their way here.