I once read a book At the end of vellichor. It was numinous. I was a solivagant, Wandering my whole life. The title, in aurum, spelled Ephemeral. It told a story In words like zephyr — soft and light. There was a girl who was tired of her life. She felt pain and sighs. People would talk about her in hushed tones, Telling tales of her life. She was a royal, Said to have killed her family for the rule. Yet she was a peregrinate — No hope, no smile. It was the nadir of time. After a long trial, She wished for a miracle to take her life. She desperately wanted to disappear. She prayed and prayed. One day she heard a susurrus, Asking if she wanted to enter or still fight. And she finally became evanescent. People then came to know She was a girl who didn’t kill, But survived the hell on earth. So they built a silent sculpture of her, To apologize And to remember her. That’s how the story ended. I walked and thought, My life was no different than hers. She was sad, And I was tired. Maybe it would be nice to be her. Somehow, I ended up in a secret corridor. That’s when I heard the same whisper — So sweet and soft, Almost a lilt. Then it asked the same: "Want to come or still fight?" I was stunned. There was an urge to disappear, Yet there was halcyon — All my loved ones and smiles. I took a step back and smiled. I want to fight. I’m glad I got a chance Not just to be a silent sculpture, But to be one of a kind.