​Exerpt from
"The Nature of Entangled Hearts"
by Emma Hartley​

     Our skin came into contact for the first time and it was a lightening strike.  As our grasp grew stronger, our hands became a bridge into places I could not fathom.  I was sucked backwards out of time and place and self, images rushing past me like ribbons stretching into space, my stomach was wrenched and twisted and my head felt like it would implode.  I caught glimpses of the rushing montage, images of life that cut into my flesh, incising me with the intensely personal physicality of their persistence.  I was drowning in a raging torrent of memories, a turbulent river sucking me down, deeper, and as my last breath was raggedly exhaled I finally alighted on a stone bridge, the scene around me snapping into clarity and sudden stillness.  I was prone, staring up at a star encrusted dome, my head cradled gently as a baby’s, a raindrop hit my cheek.  It can’t be a raindrop, I told myself viscerally, there is not a cloud in that peerless sky.  Only infinity stretched on before me.  It was then that I realized it was a teardrop, then another, warm and gentle, falling from a face poised above me, just out of my line of sight.  I tilted back to see him, anguished, possessed with grief, dying as I died in his arms.  Though the face was unfamiliar, I knew the eyes.  They were James’ eyes.