"Abandoned Places" - 2018 Campaign
- Photos by Jesus Soto
- Words by M.P Wills
I had another dream. The same one. When I slept last night, I dreamt of the first time you took me to discover ice at a frozen lake; that splintering pattern that grew under our feet. We laid on our backs, our faces etched to the sky, and upon its marvel, I saw two wonders perched on a snowflake. Yours and mine.
I have found my bed sheets becoming the smell of old chlorine, and the hot afternoon sun makes my dreams lucid; but in them there are two herds of Deer, running across a valley. I think you are one of them. I don’t know what they are running from, but the valley seems to sink between the bonnet of a crumpled car and that abandoned crematorium you once took me to. Why did you count your fingers on the tarmac?
I follow you into that place, up the staircase and the crusty plumage; you sip wine, but it falls right through you. I turn to see you but you have already gone into the other room. So I follow, drenched in that morphine they administered, opaque with salts from the space within two cubic centimetres of ocean water.
If my mind had hands and a shard of charcoal to draw, you might have been a goldfinch. Or nine brown leaves. Anyway, you never leave that abandoned place. And then I wake up.