May You Walk Through Nothing, 2024

Bodies stretch too far, bodies bend where they shouldn’t, and the shapes remember before the mind does. Something wants to be left behind, something wants to bite back, taste the hands that touched too much. The room is too big, too small, the walls moving closer, the floor softening, and the body tries to fold itself into the edges it was never meant to reach. Hunger moves quietly, a shadow that pushes and pulls, whispering to undo, to scatter, to remake.