then we would evaporate, of course, in the whitish mists sinking above the shore...
I'll wrap my wounds in the wadding of the sky, tell me, when will you come back? the horizon of vertigo, the balance of time, I will anchor myself in the sand of the beach.
that hour of the morning when the possibilities are parading in the waves of awakening and the coffee wrinkles sometimes superhuman at some other times, fragile they fade in the sun but hang around in town
in the evening pond the reflections of the day arise delicately
Nelson, 2021, Sylvie GE
Where were we? It was time for memories and nostalgic laughs we we were starting again and again true stories and others that we were making up