fragments of imagined histories
a thousand years ago, a forest of birch trees grew here.
that pillar is where I first kissed my first love.
i was staring at the band, trying to remember the name of the song they were playing, when i felt her hands on my head, turning it to face…
it was hard for richard to fathom how empty everything felt; it was harder for him to care.
it was another late night in the parking lot. snow sprinkled all around as he clutched at himself for warmth.
terrence malick shot all of ‘the new world’ in the golden hour.
this never happened has no stories yet.
