nathaxnne’s review published on Letterboxd:
The light inside the beehive. The dusk which never ends, which only gets brighter or darker. When so much particulate matter is in the air and the air itself is so beset by continuous storm there is no distinction between land, sea and sky, smeared and twined and blocked atop and within each other. Monumental slabs which look impenetrable at first but upon closer inspection are layers of gauze holding together the last remnants of a heart wounded so badly it has retreated into the appearance of passivity, an aura of projected violence, monochrome shading into monochrome into an underneath warrened and riven with cells interlinked by voice by touch by sight by shared presence, by shared memories which may or may not have ever been our own.
Light emanates from within the cracks in the earth, from out of the canyons, fractured through mist and blear and downpour. Life is there if we only wish to see. Life is a gift no matter how difficult a gift it is. Sometimes fake is better. Sometimes fake is kinder. Sometimes fake is more real. There can sometimes be an unthinking arrogance, a birthright worn in an authority unearned, to that which proclaims itself to be real in contradistinction to what is made, to what is achieved, what is stolen from the gods, what is forged for oneself from the castoffs of a world left to die by its wayward children. What is forgotten, what is hidden, what is utilitarian, what can only be loved in secret or in parentheses between, what gives with no expectation of return, a careless love, a love to be abandoned until needed, a love which lingers in pitch darkness when everything else is gone until that too is gone but not yet.
A love that names the not yet gone, the still here but fading, the that which is coming to be yet not quite here. A twilit time in between worlds, a world-but-not, one which addresses you when you cannot name yourself, which cares for you when you cannot care for yourself, which loves you when you cannot love yourself.
It doesn't matter then, at the last, or the not-quite-last. A faded photograph, a damaged screen, a flickering image. What can't be held onto, that which once held onto you.