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I was in a room surrounded by waterfalls, their sound echoing all around me. I had to settle something with a girl who claimed to make the rules of the house. Instead of speaking, I wrote to her in a notebook—but as I wrote, the words shifted and transformed on the page, alive with a will of their own.
I knew she was reading them at the same time, as if the act of writing was also an act of revealing.
Then I lay down and closed my eyes.
But I kept writing—on the inside of my eyelids. And she kept reading.
My eyes became a river.
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