I breathe and rest in the plain. I was born, raised, fell ill, learned, loved, and died in the plain. My body treads upon the plain. The plain is my body; in my blood, the plain exists. When I look at the horizon, I often think of the plain. I look at a hill and subtract a plain. I embrace landscapes, but I return to the plain. The plain is, for me, the most concise separation between earth and sky. The line is the plain. The less is the plain. I love the plain because, stripped bare, it welcomes me. When I become a place, I feel like the plain. The plain is the absence of things and houses. The plain is my cradle where I turn around to feel in my place. Not seeing the horizon is like finding myself in the plain. I walk in the plain and feel its humidity in my bones. I desire to lose myself in the plain. I would like knees like plain stones. My head flat like the plain's horizon. My back is horizontal because I am more plain. Feet that expand to be plain. The mouth is already plain. I look with flat pupils of the plain. My face is a line chasing the plain. I run on the banks of my plain. I move, but wherever I go, I encounter the plain. My perception is the plain. My thoughts are the plain. Loves are the plain. When I explore, I smell of the plain. My land is the plain. I want to be naked in the plain. Fog is my blanket when standing, looking at the plain. I always feel the need to eat the plain. I stay plain, look at the plain, want the plain. If I am in the plain, I tend toward the plain, return to the plain. I think slowly like the plain.