In the deep gorge, near the river that died five years ago and is a pale scar running from inland mountains and down to the coast, unheard words of lovers come here to die; 'I love you,' Come back to me' 'I can't live without you' whisper in the breeze for no ones ears but the intrepid that comes here to conquer his own fear of love. It is easy to get lost here ' trees are unfriendly, bark have thorns and branches snap when you try to climb up to see where you are, and wild beasts follow, wait for you to succumb, fall asleep so they can come eat your brain and leave you confused and rescuers will say: 'Poor man he's got Alzheimer.' The stillness hears fearful screams, the unheard's last effort before sinking into silence
