around the evening you interrogated the sky while waiting for the stars in your refuge with no mirror your story so beautiful in your memory
Where were we? It was memories hour and nostalgic laughs we were telling again and again true stories and some others that we were made up *first put online in Augst 2021, edited in 20222
Of course, there would be traces of passers lost on the dunes, one we cannot always be with on their own but they would have come, and would have gone and now I would be alone with the sky and promises of thunderstorms in the cold sand of May.
Focusing on the clouds, too tired to measure up against the world then what the hell would Jung say seeing our nauseating debacles
then we would evaporate, of course, in the whitish mists sinking above the shore...