KAVORKA
Alone, like an empty road.
She rides her Vespa. She loves the cold wind, her thumb clenched tightly in a fist that never opens.
Tomorrow, always tomorrow.
She wants everything, yet she wants nothing.
She wants to return to that distant house—but the house is a question, and she doesn’t answer.
She is strong, stronger than anyone.
She knows the truth.
And she laughs. Laughs loud, louder than the wind,
because she knows the truth doesn’t exist.
