even when i look away i am still looking. he is inside his body and i am inside my body and it matters less and less. shared face, shared looking. a collaboration. he didn’t expect to be handed over, to be delivered. to be tricked into his own face. anyone can paint a mask. it’s boring. and everyone secretly wants to collaborate with the enemy, to construct a truer version of the self. how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?

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