Between flesh and soul, there is a moment of fierce lightness.
The flesh bids farewell to the ground like one who sheds a mask—
not to escape, but to merge with what cannot be spoken.
Weight becomes mere memory, and every allegory that falls away
carries the echo of an ancient rite, where pain and ecstasy dance side by side.
It is an intimate carnival, without fanfare, where the final skin slips off without lament,
and in the blue silence of the threshold, what remains is neither body nor shadow,
but a trace of what was once flesh — and now is flight.
