It is more than just a marker of thirst quenched at twilight's edge.
It is a liquid hourglass.
A liminal space where memory, time, and anticipation intertwine at the bottom of a glass.
A journal for those who feel like strangers in the middle of a crowd,
and for anyone currently learning to reclaim their own wholeness.
Behind the deep red glow it casts upon a dusty table,
lies a secret tucked away in the silence.
It speaks of how to empty oneself,
of "an object of absolute surrender,"
and of the light within ice cubes that begins to burn
the exact moment the bottle runs completely dry.
Sit down for a moment,
a masterpiece demands no loud whispers.
It merely rests in quiet hiding, behind a sweet, deep-red bottle:
Marjan.
This is about its shadow.
