User Review( votes)
written by: Anahit Arustamyan
Who will tell my saga without my lips? Must it be the steam of my life's mist? My saga is a ladybird on a fairy tale's chin. I wish this fairy tale wouldn't get lean. Someone will tell it with some other lips. My saga is bound to my breathing scripts. I can still hear these whistling winds. Whose saga are they telling with their own lips? I can still hear these rustling leaves. They might pick my saga off my blue-eyed scripts.