I hide, and perhaps the truth (of my shell being no more than the mimicry of a casing) is more glaring to some than others. You can tell anything about me. I have no mystery; all you have to do is ask and listen with all of your senses. Taste with your eyes, smell with your fingertips, hear with your tongue, feel with your nose, and see with your ears. Take note of the things left unanswered, and trust in the things that are said. You can learn everything I know about myself, about you, about...

I hide, and perhaps the truth (of my shell being no more than the mimicry of a casing) is more glaring to some than others. You can tell anything about me. I have no mystery; all you have to do is ask and listen with all of your senses. Taste with your eyes, smell with your fingertips, hear with your tongue, feel with your nose, and see with your ears. Take note of the things left unanswered, and trust in the things that are said. You can learn everything I know about myself, about you, about...

Imade is empty. Please remember that. She is spiraling, and her skin does not feel like her own. The matter in her head is pilling, so the past is coming before the present, twisting, turning, rolling over. She is remembering. Remembrance is a ritual, a last–ditch effort to fill her back up. It was last week. Or maybe the week before. Or perhaps, even the week before that. You get the point. It is not today, not right now. Merely a time in the near periphery. Near enough, but far enough to be...

Imade is empty. Please remember that. She is spiraling, and her skin does not feel like her own. The matter in her head is pilling, so the past is coming before the present, twisting, turning, rolling over. She is remembering. Remembrance is a ritual, a last–ditch effort to fill her back up. It was last week. Or maybe the week before. Or perhaps, even the week before that. You get the point. It is not today, not right now. Merely a time in the near periphery. Near enough, but far enough to be...