I finally saw that perhaps it is the human eye and memory that hold the key to familiarity and storytelling.
Without even consciously touching the lock hole, the past immediately engulfs me.
He once described the autumn in Adana as a tapestry of orange hues intertwined with boundless gray,
and I refrain from inquiring into the mysteries that lie beyond that vast expanse of that void.
Pedestrians hurry away.
What is holding up the firmament-
Is it just the birds of prey?
Past, present, all reunited under the tree in nothingness.
Rust spots spread brutally, blossoming new flowers amidst the decay.