A bright red fire truck on pitch-black asphalt.
On rainy days, something long buried in memory drifts by like a hallucination.
No matter how hard I try to recall, it's only that image that returns—
as vivid and sharply drawn as a line from a novel.
A life born of memory, feeding on memory.
To borrow a poet’s words: a sorrowful beast.
on a rainy day
On rainy days, something long buried in memory drifts by like a hallucination.
No matter how hard I try to recall, it's only that image that returns—
as vivid and sharply drawn as a line from a novel.
A life born of memory, feeding on memory.
To borrow a poet’s words: a sorrowful beast.