Later in the darkness, I found diamonds in your eyes. I no longer have room for the fine hairs on my skin. I had fallen out of a spotted sleep and into a deep melancholy and now I drove on through the sorrow of the landscape. The books sketched their own direction. Our land. And we thought of the smallest details, the atoms, molecules, substances reacting with substances. The doubt, to stand at the edge of the mountains, to signify silence. I wrote letters to you in my thoughts and followed the movements of the road along the coast and the sea, hesitatingly.