Writing about it seems very odd to me.  Like showing off a lot of pictures from it that I didn’t take… Sharing some of the innermost fragile and interpersonal conncetions and moments that i have probably ever experienced in a different medium than they occured, to me feels a bit…

They walked slowly down the corridor streets, eyes looking ahead for the edge of the land. Dying embers on charred wood still smoking, cracking between curled fingers. Both the city and night, quiet. Two figures black against a growing ocean. A long breath, ribs, shoulders, chest, rising and falling across…