We Were Never Minus, Only Misnamed

I wanted to split the self into tool, limb, and thought, then braid them back together with a crystal that refuses to pick a side. I chose bone-white space and rusted-amber refractions so the prisms feel cold while their interiors burn, and I fractured the face, hand, and phone into separate shards that still act as one organism. Look where the prism cuts across the cheek: you can see a greasy pre-swipe residue, the live burn of light, and a gold-crack scar all occupying the same patch of skin — three times overwriting each other, the proof that the boundary dissolved before we noticed.