i ask how you will get down from this pillar,

this temporary stay. you shrug, but even that pains you, for it is the mourning of

your past life that makes you ache. i will fall again, you say. it will be your second time, and i somehow know that

it will be your last time.

there is no wind. nothing to sweep the look off your face. though my victory is so near, though the light bathes me in a welcoming glow, there is a certain chill in the air.

it is of death, so close that I can taste its sourness.

(why did i let you go?)