On a cold ground, the remains of two wings are scattered—
wings that once soared in the sky…
Nothing is left of the dream except white feathers,
witnessing that something beautiful was broken in silence.
Here, where innocence has fallen, there is no more flight…
only a memory of pain that never fades.
Sometimes, the fall is not just from a height,
but from a heart once full of hope,
betrayed by life without mercy.
It once flew without fear, trusting the sky
as if it were its final home…
But the winds do not spare those who trust too deeply.
So it fell… not because it was weak,
but because the world is harsher
than pure wings can endure.
Every feather here tells the story of a dream unfinished,
and every mark on the ground silently screams:
"There was a pure heart here…
but it could not withstand the cruelty of life."
And so, some endings remain suspended
between the earth and the sky—
neither a complete death,
nor a life that can be lived.
