We walk through a museum and we let the abstractions wash over us their physical reality like a still but moving waterfall. Then we emerge outside and the sun is there on our skin with the concrete and the trees and the bodies moving around with maps or tea in their hands and hats on their heads and the abstractions move into us in this seeping motion where they remain mute immutable indifferent.


you’ve felt this but never said it. That’s why I’m here.