I drank short gulps of the tea, ate dry crispbread, butter and sesame seeds. Assertion. In every day, remnants of meaning slid along with me. Darkness we just called darkness.

Everything is behind everything. From the coolest gadgets we find a way to kill boredom. Write me into your lips. A bare piece to chew on, that is what poetry is like down to the smallest details. …brb… I could not forget what should be forgotten.

Are you on the other side of the sea? Sun storm. I would like to give you all my diamonds. Sentences whispered through the laundry and dropped a few caresses on my skin. When I read a boring poem, I read a boring poem and it struck me: The summer was quite all right after all, autumn and winter. The light followed me sharply, and I drew on the language dancing in the inner landscapes. Like sitting on a tongue, just looking out there.

Then the day slowly closed in on our eyes.

A shy room, an intimate room. When I wrote your name in the shadows, a ray of sun fell through my window. The sand fretted my thoughts, made them round and soft until they disappeared. Suddenly one night, giraffes fell from your dreams. You answered like that. Everything is behind everything. Darkness we just called darkness. The rain, the wind between the leaves of trees, your lips, your lips, your lips. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane.

On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane.

On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane.

On a window pane.

On a window pane. On a window pane.

Sentences are an ocean. A shy room, an intimate room. Call me without reason. The northern lights hesitating in our voices.

Not the rivers in the ears. What should be forgotten? The eyes barely touching the pages.

It was the forests. The jars stood in a shining line between a flight of steps and the house shadows under the roofs. We thought of old fossils, raw thoughts of silence.

In every day, remnants of meaning slid along with me.

The air and the songs of the Earth.

Can I write like that? You say something about the sun. The fire. You put it in my window, on my window sill. Sometimes a couple in love will come across each other and shrug their shoulders at the mind of the sun. The ladder up to the sentence: I was the one who called the police.

Then the day slowly closed in on our eyes.

We thought of giraffes, cheetahs and long since extinct species living in the oceans. By the outermost shores we found a small, green stone. You, you. I am on the other side of the sea. By the hesitant shore we walked through mountains of razor shells and looked out towards the slowness of the sea. Not forget the rivers in the ears. The most important. When I do not see you, I do not see you.

The water and everything that grows so strangely out of the blue. I wrote nothing down in that period. I could not phrase those sentences.

The movement on the surface would make the words disappear. Sun storm. On the balcony, I sat in the sun following a sentence you had told me while asleep, saw it move inward and disappear in a sparkling diamond. The spaces of words are undoubtedly what is most important.

That we never really become a part of the world.

But a part of us remained out there in the empty halls.

Not seek shelter. You answered like that. I sat alone in the sun.

When I woke up, I was certain: The lime.

In every day remnants of meaning slid along with me.

The intimacy in writing. Who was it that wrote: In the night we write new books, and for every time we breathe in, others breathe out.

It is all about the surface, I sailed around on the surface of everything. I read your lines. Can I write like that? Like another day where that was impossible. When I wrote your name in the shadows, a ray of sun fell through my window.

To listen no longer made sense.

Glass hands.

You wrote a wound into my future. The fire. I try to draw your shining eyes in my sentences. A line threatened to intervene in my thoughts, to seduce my thoughts, terrify my thoughts. Impossible to get in there.

In my first App, I awoke and placed a light in your smile.