→ I do not draw the wire.
→ I draw its shadow.
→ Light falls.
→ A tangle appears.
Lines emerge:
not planned.
not corrected.
just followed.
Loss bends the wire.
Light makes it visible.
I trace—to remain close.
This is not therapy.
This is not resolution.
This is a dérive of the heart.
→ Mapping the immaterial.
→ Holding what trembles.
→ Offering a shared space to drift.
Your grief may not look like mine—
but we can still
trace
together.