Your arms have become sharp angles and bruises blossom across your skin at the slightest touch. The hollows in your collarbones become pools when it rains, deep enough to catch the raindrops. Somehow, you still believe they are too shallow.

I know Eliza likes to tell you ‘You’re drifting away! You’re dissolving’, but I just can’t see that. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever been more here. I don’t think I’ve ever been so conscious of your existence, of...