Whose gaps between her t e e t h close over time only to wear away over time until the gaps return without
Something pressing blinks. The only real line on this page.
The gaps – only the g a p s – are tell tales, taking out bites.
Spaces between expand or contract according to the heat, according to the beat of typing of the keys. I press an absence, a bar in space five characters long. I press again. It presses me.
The pressure just enough for the touch sensitive. Then follows the hollow s o u n d and that is the s o u n d o f s p a c e justifying the line to move vertical across the page as I push it along with a press of the cursor, nudging words off the screen and watch it p u l s e out so that unnecessary spaces make the w o r d s back up against the white but then we do know that s p a c e is always necessary for things to b r e a t h e though the k i s s of l i f e is an exception to this rule.
To the instruction