Two shadows on the beach. Two dark figures stretched out like chewing gum to twice the size of real people, two shadows like tears on the gold sand. Huge tears. The whole world is crying.

Two shadows holding hands. Bodies facing each other, arms relaxed, fingers tightly interlaced. Two profiles without eyes, without expression, for shadows have none. Two motionless shadows, remaining with their hands clasped until night arrives and darkness sweeps them away. Night leaves no room for shadows, because it is one immense shadow itself. Once one has the huge and absolute there is no need for the small things. Or maybe there is, and you have forgotten.

Two shadows, only shadows. How primitive they are. What does it mean when they hold hands? Darkness meets darkness, and that is all. There is no excitement of flesh touching, of new scents reeling into the nostrils, of sea salt tasted on the lips. Two shapes holding hands. You couldn’t care less. They are curved – like teardrops, like a heart, like question marks. Why? How? What is a shadow? What is beauty? Do you love me?

Two shadows on the beach. How primitive they are. How beautiful. Stretched out long, holding hands, waiting to die.