She didn't like the vision of her face being so accessible to strangers. And so she moved through the world shrouded in a veil of nicotine fog.

Photo credit: Jack Davidson

It wasn't a coincidence that the intensity of her eyes didn't suit her face. She was just the outer shell containing the glares of innumerable reincarnations. Together they resembled a set of Russian stacking dolls perfectly aligned all gazing out the same opening. They were birds and butterflies and kings and slaves each reflecting their own stories of hardship and triumph.

Strangers would look up for the source of their discomfort, for the thing that caused their skin to itch.

Photo credit: Jack Davidson

He dragged his silky gilded tongue across her eyes as she slept. What remained bled through her skin and soaked her dreams. She dreamt in fast foward and awoke with the glimmer of a past life in her eyes. 

Photo credit: Bojana Tatarska

She had a crisscross pattern of wrinkles splattered across her face from a lifelong habit of expressing conflicting emotions. 

Photo credit: Unknown

She was a vessel of her surroundings. Even as a child she knew it would happen. One day her eyes opened to the world and the world flooded in. It gushed in and slapped against the walls of her body until she was overflowing. Full of the mountains and the skies and the fields her outline dimmed and she was lost.

Photo credit: Greta Tuckute