"It" loved the yellow hue of the sun. The golden colour of fire. The honey colour of sunflowers. The blissful and warm yellow colour. Its frail heart drenched in the colour yellow. The yellow colour of embers. Glimmering canary by the horizon at twilight. Radiant butterscotch a late afternoon. Glowing cream colour on the black hair strands in the sunshine. Simply yellow.

"It" embraced its scorching heart and paced onto life. So hot that its body would melt. But "it" was still alive. And "it" kept walking.

Its heart sparked embers. Small and ambitious embers. With ambitions and desires. Hope and distress. Striding on the bumpy road, its shadow dwindled into that of a speck, and then vanished into thin air, leaving itself and its burning heart behind. Nevertheless, "it" still lived. And "it" still kept walking.

"It" had been walking for a long time. Its legs were no longer slender like before, but had oozed the colour of red. Crimson. More brilliant than its yellow colour. Its heart was still ablaze, and "it" still kept walking.

"It" had stopped beside a lush green meadow. Late summer green. The flaring summer had burnt its heart to ashes, and in the end, its heart dispersed in the cold early autumn breezes. Numbing and dull. Yet "it" was still alive, and "it" kept walking.

The vast meadow never ended, its exhausted legs finally collapsed. "It" lay on the damp ground, the morning dew embraced its clothes, blurring away the light yellow colour of sunlight stretching across the folds. Its eyes turned heavenward, to the cerulean sky. Serene, and silent. And then "it" tightly closed its eyes, letting the abyssal dark dye its whole world.

"It" was too tired.

"It" wanted to give up. "It", a useless being, had lost everything. "It", lonely and alone, had nothing left to linger in the mortals' world. But "it" was afraid. Afraid of pain more than anything else. Afraid of the feeling of its withered heart. And like a miracle, its heart had flared dazzlingly, no difference from a departing candle. The fire was too fierce for its fragile heart. The fire with summer had incinerated it.

Nevertheless "it" was still breathing. "It" was still alive. "It" could still smell the fresh grass in the sun, still could hear the birds singing, still could feel its skin stinging. And "it" was still afraid. "It" was still alive.

"It" had lain there for a very long time. "It" thought "it" was dead. Its gaze fixed on the cerulean sky, following the pale yellow of dawn, dark of a late afternoon, and yellow of the sun. Simply yellow. Yellow coloured that warmed its empty soul, "it" who had lost hope.

"It" had nothing, nor could "it" do anything; "it", just an ephemeral entity. "It", ugly and cruel, greedy and devious, lonely and miserable. But "it" was a free entity, "it" could soar above the lush green meadows. Even though "it" was ugly and cruel, in this very moment, "it" was beautiful. "It" existed, and "it" was beautiful.

"It" rose up. "It" dragged that pitiful body and shuffled towards the setting sun. The last rays of sunlight carved golden lines on its face, and its hair. And "it" still kept walking, even though "it" had fallen. Even though "it" had nothing left, even though "it" had lost all hope.

But "it" still existed, an entity ephemeral and free. And "it", still facing towards the bright yellow sun, was as marvellous as the sunflowers. Beautiful and brilliant in the afternoon sun.