I owe you wholeheartedly,
with a high-interest rate,
my most beautiful lines,
my gut-wrenching poems,
words like crystal goblets
smashing against stone walls…
stories drenched in love,
stories hiding passionate joys,
characters shaped and built
to fit the city where we met,
the city with the dark river
and the old rusty bridges.
Our city lost you to the world
but regained me to bear witness
of her everlasting changes,
of our refusing to die story,
I am the priestess without a name,
forever lighting the torches
in some long forsaken temple.
