I sit in silent seiza with my Siamese twin. We fingerpaint one another's faces with our eyes closed. We brush each others cheeks with damp ash and crushed pigments.
Later, we hold hands and whisper dreams to each other. Ideals we can't trust anyone else to understand. I bandage his bruises and he superglues my scabs, and we take turns charring our fingertips with scalding silver tines. We play Go against one another in our minds while we watch industrial clouds blot out a horizon hundreds of miles away.
7:03 p.m. - 2015-05-11
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