For a long time, I thought this photo was taken in a subway. But then I realized that this was the room that he operates in. 

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I’m sure it’s a brunette man.
The line between his middle and ring fingers is the only definite boundary in the photo. I’m a stranger.

Not to blurry lines, but to definite boundaries.

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When I look at my own fingers, they all seem quite separate from each other.
His fingers seem naturally like that, interlocked.
Then I noticed Efe’s fingers are the same.
I was surprised, as if everyone’s hands were always like mine.


Like in everything else.

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Even though I’m “supposed to think” otherwise, I believe he’s clean.


It’s like this man cares about cleanliness, one of those who washes his hands at length.

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I don’t think he’s fragile in nature, his fire is dominant.


It’s my mind telling me this. My intuition has gone quiet.


The boundaries that once seemed definite have now become even more blurred.


That’s fine.


This photo will always remain like this for me, anyway.


Blurry.

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I could romanticize the situation and think he’s reaching out to me, or that I need to cut off this hand to punish him.
But instead, I think I’ll have his fortune read
.
This photo was captured in the camera that was stolen from our house on May 13, 2022, and later found again. The owner of this hand will never be known.