Warm Bodies Mtrjm Kaml 🆒

I am the translator. She is the completeness.

“What did you say?” she whispers.

I see her sleeping on the floor of the 747. The broken windows frame a moon that looks almost fake, like a prop left over from the old world. Her hand is open. I touch her palm with one finger. Not to eat. To feel. warm bodies mtrjm kaml

End.

We are the same wrong thing, finally correct. I am the translator