What is beautiful is not always meant to last. But we are always the ones who choose how fast it disappears, somewhere between greed and silence
Spix’s Macaw born in the shade of the Amazon, painted in a shade only the sky could envy.
They sold it. Caged it. Watched it vanish.
The jungle cried in a language no longer spoken. And all we offered in return was a name, and the excuse: We didn’t know. Now you know.