Something very important is happening to us on our picnic. On our coast walk. On our stroll along the beach.
Nothing matters but what we’ll say now. Nothing else matters except what’s happening between us now. There’s nothing else worth thinking about. There’s no point to anything … except this.
This is real. Realer than anything. Realer than us. Realer than we are. The world is become less real, and we … we …
What matters is what we say. Are these words. No, not these words. The shadow of these words.
I’ve forgotten everything but this. I’ve forgotten everything but us.
Work in Progress 