Whatever it is, and I know this might be one of those everyone things, I think the whole of it comes down to what crosses between senses. Like to one day run out of the things I say that I’ve never thought what they should sound like because dirt of it floats in the droplets of the edges my lips and the petals of these words are reaching up to the sun to let me know they need no more than I have given. But would I even know what that sounds like. The smell of my summer grill and friends and the words and their sounds of them would I even know what that feels like to know what it looks like the water in them also rising to the edges of their mouths and thats good for the words and with them the flowers they’ll grow and the music they’ll make with them. The after of wondering whatever it’s that we crave to know whole of, like the heat and hunger between the first time two palms fall in love and the volume what that looks like.