The stillness
of your calm mind
as you sit down
in front of me — where the Tower
stand before us.

Silence dealt with us.

Your burning palms
faced the Sunny
time in the afternoon
of August's lively scene.

No curiosities, your suffering remained
without feelings — you were an oppressed piece
made from littered paintings.

Silence remained veiled.

The iridescent eyes
of yours
attracted me to a hall
full of covered specks of dust
like dawn without Light.

I shelved my next destination
for me to stride inside
your brown eyes — its color embraced me to another
painting — from where your field exists.

Scattered blossoms as you lay there.

I listened to you humming
the simple chorus
swung me into the Invisible Station.
The train caught me, then
in Metro — the Tower
sets against us.

No surprises, I did nothing.
The song finished his words.

You stood — left me
but your iridescent eyes
will remain.

“Silent, this is my final fit.”