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    Summary

    There lay a myriad of unfinished sketches in Phainon's studio, endless canvases of a man with a face that never felt quite right, unfathomable numbers of sculptures that flawlessly replicated anything but his face that he no doubt knew was heavenly to behold.

    What was the name of the man whom Phainon once loved more than anything in a life where they were doomed from the start? What was the shape of his nose? What of the arc of his lips? Were his ears on the smaller side? How strong was the arch of his brows?

    Was he alive and happy somewhere in this same life, this same world, without heavy burdens to carry? Would Phainon perhaps chance upon him in a library? Perhaps at the gym? Or at a café or a restaurant?

    Would he remember him too?

    (Why could Phainon remember so much just to be denied the full picture of him who was once his entire cosmos and so much more than words could ever hope to describe?)

    Language:
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