Ocean March 2, 2015 3:36:00 PM – 3:37:53 PM

Glass millions of years old in the darkest desert. The sentences are tangled threads. The most important. Write me into your lips. Days. Weeks. Friends. Did you know that? It doesn’t matter. Letter in April. It was only the sense of wind, of sand, of darkness, of the distant functions of my body, the quiet (that was never quiet). Around hesitant stars we came up with names for things. We are the delicate, speaking distantly to the quiet. I read your lines.