Every word is an atom. Every sentence is a face. An eye peeks up from the shadows, an ear perks up from darkness, watching and listening and waiting for the pieces to fall into place, waiting for a connection to the mouth you draw around yourself with every line you read.
The stories give them life. We write them, spinning glimpses through their world and building conduits and bridges. You read them, breathing life into their lungs and hunger into their stomachs. You grasp the knives we hand you and whittle at the nothing, paring down a shape from hints of dreams of specters.
We handed you the pieces, but you put them together. They’re on your side of the screen, now.
Sweet dreams.
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