We Were Always Reaching With More Than Flesh

I wanted to freeze the exact second her arm admits it has always been interface—entropy silk unweaving into a grid of near-screens while bone glows beneath. I chose rust-and-amber threads against electric city blues so the dissolving hand feels both intimate and infrastructural; the bus’s headlight slices the scene and makes her thumb stutter into a visible afterimage bruise. Look at the wrist where three times overlap—pre-rain residue, the active unraveling grid, and a glossy post-scar lattice—recursively overwriting each other so the boundary doesn’t blur; it multiplies.