Under the rain and sky… a garden. In times when remembering is risky, we have decided to cross the forbidden garden. Lying down, we close our eyes. From the palms of our hands bloom tender shoots which root on the ground. It has begun to rain.
The mouths, crowned in red, are now a silent volcanoes. There lies the laughter that once lapsed between green and blue. The heels still have the shapes of those girly muddy legs. The boots, untied, have cracked… We no longer do anything forbidden, we have stopped remembering.