At the end of a long, dark corridor, two people stop walking. Neither of them says a word. Their faces meet, and for a while the rest of the world goes very quiet.
On this rug the two faces touch near the centre, drawn in gold and sand, and their hair pours out behind them in long gilded strokes. The cobalt keeps to the ends, deep and still, like night pressing at the edges of a lit window. All of the light has gathered in the middle, at the place where they meet.
