On the bus I wrote a text message for you. I’ve stalled on the threshold of the day. The spaces of words are undoubtedly what is most important. It was not the fields I came from. I try to draw your radiant eyes in my sentences. A shy room, an intimate room. The coal. Notes. Descriptions. Blue. On a big piece of white paper. On the balcony, I sat in the sun following a sentence you had told me while asleep, saw it move inward and disappear in a sparkling diamond. Blue.

Blue. Blue. Blue.