9 Aug 2022

If I listen, I can hear distant thunder rumbling through the clouds through the sun through the sky, haze, the sentence structure collapses. We run down the path and wait for the post-glow of togetherness. If we listen we can hear each other in the salt crackle.

A woman in sunglasses with her hair in a bun looks over her shoulder at the camera. You can’t see her eyes because of the sunglasses. A jagged shadow shows on a cobblestone wall behind her, golden hour.

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