“Maybe we're on the wrong side of some metaphorical bridge where the grass is crusty and not grass at all, but sharp little spines of glass. I dunno, Moritz.But the one little speck of green that I get is your letters, so please never stop writing me.You got that?Never stop.Because you'll never meet me and it's the closest we can get.”

“Maybe we're on the wrong side of some metaphorical bridge where the grass is crusty and not grass at all, but sharp little spines of glass. I dunno, Moritz.But the one little speck of green that I get is your letters, so please never stop writing me.You got that?Never stop.Because you'll never meet me and it's the closest we can get.”

“Maybe we're on the wrong side of some metaphorical bridge where the grass is crusty and not grass at all, but sharp little spines of glass. I dunno, Moritz.But the one little speck of green that I get is your letters, so please never stop writing me.You got that?Never stop.Because you'll never meet me and it's the closest we can get.”