What about the trunk 

Having read and watched two stories played out very differently in my mind and screens 

They toyed with the idea of serendipity, boundary and contracts 

How chance encounters and each interaction usually unveils a little more with each layer peeled back 

Like what tomatoes and childhood traumas do 

Knowing that they could be saviours or shadows 

There’s a kind of thirst that doesn’t ask for water — it begs for freedom. The kind that urges the mind to wander untamed, where imagination flickers like a fire long before it ever catches flame. That static tension in the air, invisible yet electric, waiting to ignite.

There’s no room for caution here — not when vulnerability teeters so close to boldness. The hesitation, the second-guessing, the protective shell of embarrassment… all feel like barriers to a more honest yearning. Let them fall.

It’s strange how things unfold. The words unsent, lingering on the edge of intention. A voice not yet heard, but longed for in the silence. A chuckle — small, spontaneous, unforgettable.

And then there’s touch. Not just skin to skin, but the magnetic pull of wanting to be wanted.

No more reasons. No more brakes. Just an unfiltered, unedited desire to step fully into it — to let go, to feel, to burn.

Would I be ready 

When I hear that 

Would I say 

It’s time 

Maybe it was a passing that lured the recall 

A piece of it was made up of cuts and smoke 

That night was life’s turning point to anchor the beyond

Many nights

The earliest of all

Under the yellow streetlights I could still see the shadows driving away

At the window hyperventilating, gasping for air, knowing in that space something changed

Behind closed doors muffled whispers

A hole and hands

The rage met a neck

Eyes open meeting a smirk and the haunting avalanche that chained itself forever  

 

We create to embody the moment 

Despite everything moving forward 

The endless change and tide of things 

The different sides of us we conceal, reveal and share 

Never a full picture 

You find yourself surprised by little unknowns that are only discovered or made known now 

Standing in front of the light we can’t see what’s really there 

Rushing to the next moment made you missed out what was right in front 

You want to be more present in the next moments 

We fear being left behind or forgotten 

But believing that we have given and left pieces of ourselves with each encounter and goodbyes aids in moving on 

You have given yourself away to each person and memory 

A silent modest mark you left behind 

And it will be triggered 

Somehow 

Continuously in time