I talk to you across a forest of people, but it is doomed semantic air. The sounds scatter and lose their force to push atoms around. All the seeds in the sentences float away but it is not like milkweed. Nothing is reborn where it touches earth. I say an echo is dying semantic air. But the things I say to you are changing as they wander. What if there were a planet where something I said to you could echo around for a year and come back completely changed. You would still hear it in my voice. But it would be a liar. It might be the sort of lie you need and embrace. Some bodiless thing taking possession of you. And you would accuse me. Please check your calendar to verify you are not replying to mere echoes of something I said.