We become who we love, intimate, for my love is your intimate, folded into a sweet melody, like a pearl hiding inside a shell, where my joy becomes your own, a delicate complexity, no formula, just woven to help us imagine not to be ourselves, but the experience of the beloved, the word love is justified, to be beyond ourselves, to be the premise of the another, to sit down with you, to interlace again, in this we have tried, in this your name begins again, made of time, wider and reprising.
— Chuck Akot, Intimo
















