There’s a very fine line that exists between love and stupidity. The texture of the line changes and morphs from the hairs breadth of a freshly sharpened grade school pencil tracing the division on brittle parchment to the thicker crumble of kohl beneath their eye. Other instances are nearly invisible. A smudge of ashen fluff, formerly a playful loop of charcoal that had been plucked as a blackened shard from the cooling remains of yesterday’s bonfire, is indistinct, past tense, a broken wall allowing endlessly dangerous toxins to cross over and commingle. But they do not cross because the line, infinitely thin, does not break or disappear and it can’t be smudged away. On a clear day you can see stupidity from love, out there on the bluff, shirtless, oblivious to your eyes, the tiny razors in the wind, truly amazing, and your heart, forgetting itself, explodes. | image @limbotab