Four walls.
The pictures are moving across them. Overlapping and dancing their intricate dances, languid movements and beating hearts.
Hair falling to the ground in jagged pieces. Grinding bodies pushing themselves up against each other.
The base of the music is fading in and out in my ears and I wonder if this is what it's like for some people when they die, the hectic beating like blood in veins, the light that's there but not really, the feeling of confusion mixed with contentment.
I've never been to outer space. But I could be on another planet for all I know. I feel light years away from my mundane life. Gone are my everyday responsibilities of school and family and friends. It's all been erased, and for now it's just me and the art.
