Photo © aarthyr
What runs towards your eyes, Aarhty? Images from distant worlds, like the ones evoked by Philip K.? Or the electric sheep that may have been dreamed by his androids? A Thursday night out, on Bloor, or a chat at the graduates' lounge, on the seventh floor? The tattoo of a Portuguese man diving in Mexico or thousands of Indian tikkas? (Or even memories from the future?)
I know what is in your mind, and runs towards your eyes, Aarthy.
Alice, Aarhty, Alice. All her mirrors and all her wonders.
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