I can't write this article
It most be rebuilt from the ground up. Even words live in the small cracks of houses, never seeing the light, forgetting that there is light.
If you touch them you can feel your skin breathe. You can feel the pull of them. When there is this new flesh then I can begin to write this article. But I will long be dead. You will now have to speak for me.
The people there all dress in bright shirts. They're trying to sow on feathers. "It's a new fad. Then they jump off cliffs," the man says with a thick accent, "One will fly."
"You know me."
Shoot, I do. This is the great love I have for you. I love you.