Dead Man Run...

Dead Man Run was a year of solitary walks. Before the sun would rise and after it would set, I found myself at specific moments that kept repeating. Although they fell on different days, although I was strong, although I did what I had to do…something dead slithered inside…following to and fro…devouring precious interludes…soiling everything…even imagination… Instead of giving in, I wrote. Writings turned to correspondence as Wilding and I endeavored to give everything…an entire feeling…our shared pains…a name. Dead Man Run: those places of in-between, where photos cannot be taken, where memories do little justice…where tiny moments are full of all we buried…and all we will ever win.