Ann-Kathrin: The Five-Minute Goddess

She stepped into our world like a still from a lost Godard film.
Ann-Kathrin. All cheekbones and stardust.
She didn’t walk, she glided, like the air parted for her.
Every eye turned, not because she demanded it,
but because beauty like that hurt.
It made you ache, made you want to weep or write or run.

For five minutes... maybe a year, maybe a moment
she was light incarnate.
Laughed like she didn’t know how to suffer.
Eyes like mirrors on fire.

And then...
The fall.

Drugs.
The kind that don’t just hollow you out,
but drag your name through gutters, alleys, rooms you never wanted to enter.
Prostitution, they called it.
But what it was... was survival.
Barely.

People stopped saying her name.
But I didn’t.
Couldn’t.
Because once, the world was brighter for her being in it.
And even now.... when I think of beauty... I still see her.
For five minutes.
Blazing.

Moon Over Bourbon Street - Sting

Her favourite song

How could I be this way when I pray to god above
I must love what I destroy and destroy the thing I love
Oh you'll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While there's a moon over bourbon street