Night wanderings

Until the snow stops

Those pixelated distortions of memories and scars

Les Cloches

Mon beau tzigane mon amant
Écoute les cloches qui sonnent
Nous nous aimions éperdument
Croyant n'être vus de personne

Mais nous étions bien mal cachés
Toutes les cloches à la ronde
Nous ont vus du haut des clochers
Et le disent à tout le monde

Demain Cyprien et Henri
Marie Ursule et Catherine
La boulangère et son mari
Et puis Gertrude ma cousine

Souriront quand je passerai
Je ne saurai plus où me mettre
Tu seras loin Je pleurerai
J'en mourrai peut-être   

-Guillaume Apollinaire

For you, for them, for me, for us

It is possible for those beings who were once alive to dissolve into the realm of fiction. 

Madness can be one way to achieve this malleable state, though death is the most common means to complete dissolution.

 The living may compose mental fictions about their dead loved ones, granting them the power to transform, to inhabit objects, to inhabit people.

The obstacles these spirits face are only those that we create for them, their capabilities are only those that we allow.  

Though different ethers may obscure the boundaries between realms, hindering the vision of these elusive incarnations, somewhere a father may still watch over his breathing daughter with curiosity, with disappointment, with love. 

After this,

What comes next?