Landscape June 21, 2014 11:36:55 AM – 11:38:26 AM

We thought about words we could not forget. We were still, we were still quivering, quivering down to the smallest details. And we fell asleep. Words run out of my mouth. Reading for nothingness.

Some put out fires and stiffen in the fierce smoke, while others forever turn into and become like the sea. The ideal, whispers the quiet wind, is not necessarily the trimmed trees, the tightly composed book.