The river flows silently, turning and bending, twisting its body around enormous rocks and mountains.
A warm breeze, gently stroking the gushing waves like a mother caressing her child.
A lonely heart, trying to swim against the stream, drowning in itself, sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss.
Somewhere down there, a silhoutte is shaking in the cold, gasping and in pain, crying tears that have dried out long ago.
Maybe the light will come back some day and reclaim its place in the heart of the drowned king.
A pair of eyes on the horizon, looking into the future but only seeing the past.
It only matters if it doesn’t last.