Less than knowing.

Okay, the weird glow of the thing is that

Love is permanent,

And it will last forever. But we don’t. It’s up to us to bring Colored yarn and tie our letters to the

Rail before it goes out to sea.

In Torquay, in 1997, in a fog and drunk on cider

I saw France. I mean, I know I saw it—

Which somehow makes it less than having been real.