for Babayaga An early morning in the field, as being vague about all passionate things, I travelled a thousand miles away just to have a crush on an orange tree. That orange tree scented the strange city. Hey April, I wanted to dive myself off a cliff I kissed a stranger in mirrors I chased my own trail and re-established the order of morals for emotions. I chose the ideal of known things I chose the calamitous return I chose to diverge from my orange tree in an afternoon within the blue sea. Then I suffered from nostalgia right after the moment I was with my old dear beings. The orange tree, which I am still in love with, from faraway just smiled and sang: ‘những chiếc muỗng bạc gọi tên sợi mì hey, Identity are you being constructed as you lost your heart to a tree?’ In the shade of my beloved orange tree, cats are making love.