Lyack Glenwalker:
S o p h i e
Lyack Glenwalker:
T e m p u r a
Lyack Glenwalker:
U n t i t l e d
Lyack Glenwalker:
You look lonely, i can fix that...
Lyack Glenwalker:
Closer
Lyack Glenwalker:
Our ghosts
Lyack Glenwalker:
The care of the gaze
Lyack Glenwalker:
Poetry is a pile of snow in a world with salt in its hand
Lyack Glenwalker:
.: Morir Vivir :.
Lyack Glenwalker:
A r t s
Lyack Glenwalker:
R e l a x
Lyack Glenwalker:
Ty!
Lyack Glenwalker:
Boat night, of music, of stars
Lyack Glenwalker:
Do you know
Lyack Glenwalker:
Muted reflections fill the contrasts of the high air, float absently in the great restlessness of height
Lyack Glenwalker:
Fluid, the abandonment of the day ends
Lyack Glenwalker:
The more different a person is from me, the more real it seems to me, as it depends less on my subjectivity
