When you call me up on the phone, I hear nothing. By the hesitant shore we walked through mountains of razor shells and looked out towards the slowness of the sea. The spaces of words are undoubtedly what is most important. In mountain ranges across creased sheets? In the morning I sit there, slowly, reading about sand, about the sand, the movements of the sand across itself. On the sea. Later, one of the following nights, as we followed each other down through each our idea of it, I could no longer hide the words, the sentences, the images.