Every night the mind of the sun strikes a chasm through the mountains. I was in your body, and you? You reach out your eyes towards shores to come. We thought of giraffes, cheetahs and long since extinct species living in the oceans. I flick through the pages of some random book. We are the delicate, speaking distantly to the quiet. Back in the past in loneliness I stretched out every sentence so it could slide across the weeks.

By the hesitant shore we walked through mountains of razor shells and looked out towards the slowness of the sea.