Before we were born, God gently told us the truth. Understanding is something that stops when our bodies bruise.

All this to say, our future is a blank page. We’ll drag our pens into these parallel lines to record and to articulate everything we find. As decades unlace, we’ll pause and carefully trace. Our shadows are puddles of ink that our memory saves.

Layer by layer, the framework was formed on an epic of paper we breathe to explore. Fast-forward motion will gracefully show the flickering story that all of our sketches unfold.

There is no language for what we’ve seen. Only the sweetness that bends us to our knees, and all of these fumbling words to explain what it means. But our hearts were buried deep in the sand.

— Ryan O’neal & Dan Perdue, of Sleeping at Last