We’re ghosts of something we were, before time. Something that we are; in how we exist and feel underneath our skin which acts as a barrier, a skin that tells truths of time passed, gone, buried; protecting us from the ultimate, unavoidable truth which we face when we lie together / separate in bed, perpetually alone in our existence together, withdrawing our egos into ourselves until we are wholly swallowed by it all.  Naturally.  

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'We split and we merge until our fragments become so performed and constructed that nothing authentic remains in us. Like under a spell they stand nocturnal, still under the moonlight. Fingertips numb, only breath remains spilling out of her mouth, materialising into death upon the moment it leaves the tip of her lips. He wears his heart under his skin but remains forever still, while the blood in his veins darkens, quickening; then slowing down. A hand holds the heart intact. Their fingertips glow light pink, almost purple where the air around them has gently bruised them.' 

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-Our bones and flesh beautifully arranged in the glowing moonlight, eyes still grasping onto the light above the trees, dreamy but absent. The forest becomes our kingdom, a bubble to escape, to piece together our fractions. We can be free and not at all strange, amongst the fallen leaves, shrubs, hearts and poking fingers.-