located in the north part of the soul, where the wind blows away dark thoughts, people sink their feet in the sand, eat lots of chocolate and nobody minds the rain.

portraits

some people pass through the neverlands, and after they’re gone, after they get smaller and smaller and eventually disappear in the linear world of the horizon, the footprints they left come to life slowly and begin to wander around.

when it gets late, when all the images are erased and it’s been a while since they became strangers, the ghosts of their passage continue to exist completely divergent and without any connection to the real world.

if i told their story, would you listen? would you care?