WaxBound
A film of memory suspended in wax. Caught between shadow and strobe. Archives, echoes of selves once held closer. The impression of people clinging onto times they went on the swings for an entirety of recess break through the greyness, but they arrive blurred, smothered beneath a thick surface. Wax becomes both shelter and confinement.
Water trickles through, slipping between cracks.
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Watching the Wheels Roll Away
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