Attachment

Two hands, clinging to each other like chains of flesh. They burn crimson against the darkness, yet in this fire there is no warmth—only tormenting dependence. Attachment turns into shackles: it does not release, does not allow one to breathe, and the tighter the grip, the sharper the pain. This is not a bond, but a knot pulled tight by fear of loss and despair of holding on. In the darkness, only they remain—two red hands that cannot let go, even when release feels like the only salvation.