a ghost thawing on
the other side; will it
whisper away or stay, this
story with too-weightless
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qualities—fingers that
breathe, eyes that hang
suspended in place—not
the space that our narrative
takes, not the making of it, but
how we manipulate its plot on
a glass screen, filtered through
the silver of a moment, a
day, a
lifetime maybe misted into
patterns on a windowpane: the
main character cast not
once, but
twice?
