We thought about words we could not forget. I am on the other side of the sea. And we awoke. From the smallest details we find, every morning – in the shining light that is bright – our way into the most important scientific truths.

In every day, your hands gently ran through my hair.

Call me without reason. The cloud hid something from the birds.

Did I drag you along to the outermost mountains? Notebook. Under fire. Suddenly one day, giraffes fell from your eyes. In the lips and in the skin. Two shirts hung up to dry in the room, one is crumpled, the other refuses to be straightened out. You must not disappear. Grey.

Resisted, but did nothing.

In there behind the forest.

We thought of old fossils, raw thoughts of silence. When I said your name, all I heard was the quiet whisper through the sand. It doesn’t matter. Can I write that? Intimacy, writing. Why did you drag me down to the outermost mountains? Who was it that wrote: When I think of that place, I think wowowow in a vague crossing of everything before everything.

Was the wind really blowing? We have neither curtains nor tight schedules.

I get the day going, writing quietly. The scratches. In the images, my language had become hostile: You put it in my window, on my window sill. In the night we write new books, and for every time we breathe in, others breathe out. I sat somewhere quiet in the past, writing and drawing. When I wake up and see you open your eyes. Like reading forgotten newspapers. By the hesitant shore we walked through mountains of razor shells and looked out towards the slowness of the sea.

A shy room, an intimate room. It is the wind blowing tunes through the rushes. Resisted, but wrote: nothing. The words, small tops of foam.

Then the day slowly closed in on our eyes. The lights lighted. About the transformation of the landscape and the white sky and the sea’s tints of grey. One morning, a piece of the sky. Darkness and light are languages unto themselves _ go with the flow! Desertion. Assertion.