A collaboration between three artists
Seasons pass and my arms move closer to the sky, though still not close enough to touch the stars.
Her name is Ida, and even her tears are beautiful. With fingers outstretched I catch them peeling across her cheeks, little rivulets swimming
It was the fourth selfie they had taken in thirty minutes. They were sat in one of the shiny red leather booths in the
The winter sun is always low. Long angular strips of brilliant yellow squeeze through the gaps in the railings like witch’s fingers, reaching across
The train is due to arrive at 10:22 and on the platform an unspoken brevity of anticipation can be felt as the crackled announcement