Our fights will never be fair ones, my darling. I am but a swift white bird, a tongueless bird, who still, against the rest of it, sings for you. If you love me, you must also love the war within. And the blood around my mouth. Can you hear the church bells beneath the graveyard dirt? Die sideways. Die halfway. Tell me, again, that I will not ruin this. Tell me, again, that these metaphors are tired. It is time to rest my wings. Sacrifice me to the sky. Please, baby, please, just let me have one more song.
Mia Vittimberga, ’26