"Betweenselves" is crowded, is empty, is an infringement: it is, perfectly, too much in too little. It rushes, it waits for you, it waits for you to feel the edge of your body pressing into your bones. It rejects—expectations, syntax, boundaries—its own familiarity to find a belonging, to settle into the inbewteen like a home (the carpets, the tiles, the walls). It invites you to consider being lost.

"They say the handles are the strongest part of the bag" is a quiet study in reflection, in hope. It is two one-sided conversations happening at once, and it is the space between them, and it is their overlap. Its gentle rhythm and language are sweet, and soft, and a little bit hopeless, and a little bit like open arms ready to be crawled into: ready for you.

"Sun-hat" is a kiss in the forest, is a story by the fire, is a coming into, a leaving, a beginning; it is a story between the lines, a story with space—underneath—to couch yourself in. It is a story with sidelines. It is a crisp, straightforward story that deceives itself for you, and it is—just like you—more than it appears.