14 September 2012
We were close, them and us, before distance and time turned them into memories.
Now their ghosts whisper through social media, fragments of their DNA curated in dusty SIMs, whilst their stubborn fingerprints are relics on yellowed pages; they smile out from yearbooks and 35mm negatives, their dried blood fades in the ink of bygone birthday cards.
The ouija board moves, we don't answer back for fear of disturbing the dead.
They feel the same.
Near/Far • Opuss № I