The story you follow. In her remembered feeling-vision, nothing could compare. For years berated herself, she had been too passive, she had not been right.

& above the window. But they are all there, always, never less than, always waiting for me to change. The present can be worthy, but not in time to alter the past. Explicit text betrays our uniformity to a predictable occurrence of behaviours. You, beside me there, who you might be - here, in the clefts of the rock, in the secrets of the stairs?

So what are you looking at? Language awry…losing their chemical word attraction. Letters are not monogamous - they don’t belong to any particular word, but are free to roam and explore themselves. Their ability to bond to one another…to cohere into words.

This is real. I’m real.

I’m every address you could write to
I open every love letter
If I drew on a smile
Could you do me a favour?