Jul 8
we may not be so different, you and i.
❛❛ What makes you think so ? ❜❜
The question is almost insolent in the face of his ever-present smile - those eyes, whose depths I have peered into through the mirror in the bathroom and recoiled from the abyss I found watching me back. But something itches at the back of my skull now. It scratches, it claws, insistent to break out the shell that is me.
Not the revulsion of what lingers in the peripheral of my being, but something akin to recognition, though this is the first time we've met.
He is like me. Something between life and death, a whole piece of fractured desires.
Alike, yet not the same.
❛❛ Our matter may be similar, but we are not. ❜❜
