There's a tangle of blue bodies. 

The colour chips off, papery and dry at first. It then flows, all smooth and graceful, into a pool at the bottom of the bed. There are thin sounds that echo through the room and then there is the sound of rain. Rain as blue as my body; rain as fierce as the guttural voices that escape.

In the end, it all dissolves and seeps. We are reduced to thick, lucid liquid that darts off the bed into the cracks in the wall. We are now one with everyone else, we are just like everyone else.

The gurgling of the affection now recedes. The space is now back to how it was, no knotted ink coloured arms and no runaway emotions.