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Vi skriver, vi hatar, vi skrattar, vi filosoferar, vi lyssnar, vi dansar, vi gråter, vi applåderar, vi somnar, vi vaknar upp, vi somnar om, vi dricker läsk, vi häller i oss folköl, vi öppnar snusdosor, vi luktar på blommor, vi doppar tårna i havet, vi fryser, vi hatar värmen, vi ler mot gröna skogar, vi tar vara på livet, vi försöker lära oss, vi läser böcker, vi slår, vi växer upp, vi blir livrädda, vi blir fulla, vi laddar vattenpipan, vi luktar svett, vi luktar örttobak, vi bråkar, vi får ont i fötterna, vi glömmer att borsta tänderna, vi kan inte somna, vi glömmer frukosten, vi har inga pengar, vi mår bra, vi lever.

If I could bottle up the sea breeze I would take it over to your house and pour it loose through your garden, so the hinges on your windows would rust and colour. Like the boats pulled up on the sand for the summer, and your sweet clean clothes would go stiff on the line and there’d be sand in your pockets and nothing on your mind.

But every year it gets a little bit harder to get back to the feeling of when we were fifteen and we could jump in the river upstream and let the current carry us to the beginning where the river met the sea again. And all our days were a sun-drenched haze while the salt spray crusted on the window panes