On Gyeongju Holiday (Part I)

Here my breath was drawn, stolen from me even. As we first drove past the tombs, I turned my head, could not advert eyes. My head turned, tilted even, and I twisted my body around to gather what was beyond the window of the car, tombs, I was told.

Later, in the balmy evening, as we five travelers walked past the tombs, I could feel my body: how miniscule my existence on earth. These tombs are ominous: semi-circles of earth, they are an embodiment of the past: death of royalty, a culture's history, lost thoughts, conversations between important men hushed, the transition of a place, and what remains.

Intoxicating really, having breath stolen by beauty.