What a shame for two to see the world in similar lenses but could never begin to understand what to make out of the space between them.
Stuck in the cul-de-sac, me and you. I feel hate that comes with hurt that comes with love that comes with not seeing too. Mind wanders to when risks come trusting, come touching the unexplored - remembering too well - light that covered the virgin silk-skin. Soft fingertips, crossing the threshold of the untouched, that once long ago held at bay the fears that stem from hate we water today.
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"The Consolation" Edvard Munch (1894).
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