Hi there,
All the guitars turned to wood thousands of seconds ago.
All the keyboards are covered with millimeters of dust.
All the Godots are folded in their wrinkles.
All their singing became a squawk.
All the lyrics are a bunch of letters.
Now that I've found you.
My father's, grandfather's and uncle's archive of mounted slides.
Diving into an ocean of pictures.
Not drowning.
But away for months.
Gasping,
R.o.l.f.
