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fyn gula
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on the stone wall she sat above the breaking waves. he saw the drops of sea water where the splash had accidentally reached her, a pattern of stars on her grey pleated skirt.
but it was the salt water on her face that concerned her and it wasn't from the ocean.
"i have failed," she spoke, in portuguese, and tears slid and fell from cheeks, lost in the current of turbulent foam.
"no," he said, thinking what he could say that the tide had not already uttered. "you have forgotten yourself in order to give the best of yourself. it is passing through you more than you are creating it. you are not the flower, you are the vase."
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