The morning after is strangely calm.
    "Morning is blissful because it has
no memories."
    says the sylph, rifling through her satchel.

    "It only thinks about the
         future, what it wants to do,
            where it wants to go.

            "Then the evening comes,
                     who remembers
                       the weight of
                          the world.
            Sometimes it hides behind clouds and
                                                          cri­es."

    "And of the night?"

    "The night, knowing the sorrows of her siblings,
     casts a veil over
     everyone else.
     She gathers all the suffering she can and swallows it
     whole."

    "Does it hurt?"


                                                        ­                           "Sometimes."