The body is a vessel, a cage that absorbs and reflects what it witnesses. It is the clamor of consciousness, a swarm of limbs and breath, a friction, a pressing — the rustle of souls, the chant of longing where the sense of emptiness rings clear. A lucid absence, quietly inhabiting the spaces we live in, turning them into thresholds: chaotic, in-between, suspended. Absence, here, is like a wave. It comes and recedes, only to return, feeding itself endlessly.
