The morning was rising up from its knees. It was then falling on its back and singing, gazing in fascination into the eyes of walls turning pale.

The dream was generously oozing from afar, tasting like… rain and grass.

The familiar smell of ink could be recognized, coming from the very last chapter.

The keen lips were diving right into the dream, like in a hurried secret wedding.

The sky was gently blowing off the stars.

The story was coming to an end.