A verbal photograph. A picture in words. The black on white postcard. Linguistic description. A sketch. A typewriter. Pages. Pages of a sketch pinned. Pinned behind a typewriter. Loosely sitting at its climax. The final strokes.
The first words of truth. The companion for life. A soul met before. A point in life. Usually a reckless point or point of recklessness. Behaviour and attitude. Saying goodbye, saying see you soon, saying never again.
The feelings to force words into a picture. Impelling circumstances. Reunited with a lost soul manifested de nuevo on the page, in words.
A fabricated story. Designed before two characters separate. This is what they tell people happened. This is contrived. Take a boat and sit the passengers to a banquet. Stand up and orate a picture. Put them in the middle of the ocean and tell them principally there is nowhere to go. The boat is not going further north and the captain doesn’t know where Buenos Aires is, less have desire to find out.
Truth as a bond. This story is for two people, the other people are not to be bonded. They are not to know the truth. The fine print didn’t exist. The bond was oral. A picture prediction in words. A promise postcard.
The page ripped from the typewriter. The corner set alight. The black stain creeping across the soul. The black flaky ashes testament to a combination of words that only once will ever exist. Self justification for having written.
The second half of the orange is far away. She comes in segments. A couple separated by the white pithy ether. The bond stands. The collective intelligence of the universe bangs entry. There is a secret it needs to know.
Truth’s chances of survival in the long run? Shouldn’t be put on paper or set for the record. Who stands to lose or benefit from this outcome. The secret known to two people. Two famous characters from history. Lovers or warring enemies. How many secrets lie in how many graves?
A man alone on an island exercises his personal boundaries. A border patrol and summit. Futility proven. A man on an island alone, writing. There is no telephone, there is no means of communication. He writes a portrait in words. The etymological drawing.
A feeling shared, guarded by several sentries. The journey fits on the paper. The outline of everything that isn’t secret approaches from the infinite. The outline. Everything that isn’t what is not to be told. The white border of the page. Circumstances and related characters. Never does the other half of the secret appear on the page.
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The point in the world where it is no longer straight forward but straight up. The wall of mountains. Crushed surface scattered with the Earth’s sleepy dust. Not to move for a million more years. And even then a movement that defies observation. Earth’s reticence, Gaia’s timidity.
villemél 
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