We hear whisperings.

Time flies in this side, doesn't it?

It does.

We find knives in the rocks here.

It rains blood.

The flowers smell of rotting bodies.

Here, the darkness is strongest.

It is paradise, it is.

But one of the cruelest ones.

A double edged sword.

Our souls are weak here,

and come night, colours appear.

Colours from which, one cannot devise

the true from the false.

This other side of love-

it reeks of betrayal.