I strive, like raindrops defying the stern gravity,
or like the wearisome erosion of quartz, persistent and silent,
like rainless showers in an overcast winter sky.

Such are the rare shadows of trees in a suffocating, arid city,
akin to the hope of abundant harvests under a relentless drought.

In the waiting for tomorrow, in the rigor of time and inertia of memories,
so brief and eternal like the wandering of a tender memory;
insignificant and perpetual like the queen of the night blooming in the warm darkness,
deep and penetrating like nostalgia itself, echoing in the silence.