Notebook. Under fire.

And yet, was it the big systems I feared? The jars stood in a shining line between a flight of steps and the house shadows under the roofs. To speak was too much. I flick through the pages of some random book. In every day, remnants of meaning slid along with me.

Can I write that? This is how you answered. The water and everything that grows so strangely out of the blue.