Sometimes I travel far. I start by walking the flowing line, cutting through the red sand.

This place is my refuge, even though I always walk on fire here, and moreover, all it seems is already written.

I roll in purple and make a wish.

Sense making is too sensory for me to walk barefoot, and yet, I do... forgot my shoes at home, again, because this place never seems to be my destination.

I just stop by, convincingly proclaiming I will not return.

And here I am again, burning yellow, loving purple, and dreaming about the blue.

The density of colour here is like a crossroad in Space: wherever you go, there's always a wave.