The plastic of our imaginations keeps us, the non-existent, pulled and glued together. There is only vacuum between us, rendering us inseparable. Nowhere to move. No space for a breath. We breathe each other’s exhalation. This panorama of being inside a box full of light, the kind that blinds you. We can’t see each other but we feel the dead friction against our skins. The lines in our palms make the map of our lives, zigzagging across the flesh that had been. Our hitchhiking ends here. In this snow-filled desert.