Locco

Act III – The Return

Mutable. Cyclical. Eternal.
A presence that moves without asking.
A drop—
a memory,
a thorn.

Act II – The Presence

It rises again,
a shimmer pressed between moments,
a weight felt before it is named.
Not an object,
but a pulse.
A trace that lingers,
a memory folded into skin,
a thorn hidden in bloom.
It hums where it lands,
it trembles on fingertips,
it remembers itself
long after it is gone.