it has been a long winter of quiet reflection. years and years and years. when I close my eyes I see a blinding sun over a field of icy snow, reflecting its brilliance back towards the piercing blue. I resolve that this is what I will see when I die.

it has been an experiment. I have held all these different ways of being in my hands and watched them trickle through my fingers like sand. my middle and ring fingers have never lain seamlessly against one another; the sand flows faster through the gap. warring over domains, numbers, names and aliases. truths, perhaps. distorted memories and portraits of. what’s left is an idea of the soul in this body.

I write it down because I’ve been told you feel the same. that you might make use of some pieces left behind, or even some still held. if you do will you tell me? if you’ve seen these things and felt these places will you share? I’m looking to alchemize, to find the charge, and I only ask so that when we die, we can pick it back up next time.