Sun storm. And that sky; was a crazy day. Something glittered (glittered) between my fingers. On the bus, I wrote you a text message. I flick through the pages of some random book. And only thought of the lines, of the way they resembled, the way they coloured and charmed and I don’t know what. Can I write that?

I sat somewhere quiet in the past, writing and drawing. We sat alone in the night. The sentences are an ocean.