Written & produced by: glasse
Photography by: Tiffany Hu
Release Date: November 8, 2023
despair falls is based on the following 4-part piece of concept writing done in March 2021.
it begins with a whisper that permeates the stillness of daylight.
i watch as it envelops the forest in my periphery, shrouding the trees in disquiet and detaching them from being.
she stands in front of me, holding my gaze as she steadily descends into the ground. with a start, i realize that i am sinking after her.
two hands, with disembodied fingers outstretched, reach for the salvation that lies just beyond their grasp.
we are until we are buried.
and then we are not.
as we plummet into freefall, the whisper deepens into a tightening of the chest, accompanied by a drowning cry.
our words dissipate, escaping through clenched teeth to places we cannot go.
there is an entity beneath the ground watching us with blood-stained eyes, wondering how long it has been since we have forgotten how to remember.
my arms thrash as i clutch at the viscous substance that surrounds me.
through the miasma, my hands splay against a wall of glass.
i see her there, in all her deadening splendor, steadily rising into the ether.
take me with you, i plead.
once again, she holds my gaze. this time, she nods.
the cry fades to fragments of tears. we emerge in an aged land that knows nothing of hope and everything of despair.
those who continue to remember continue to be.
reaching forward, we dig our immaterial hands into the grass that climbs through the detritus beside our feet.
i lie down as she stands up. we are two spirits wandering the earth with one shadow.
as she observes me from above, the wind blows gently through her hair, my shirt, the grass.
just this once, i am determined to go with her.
i grasp her outstretched hand.
it ends in a hum, trembling in its fragility but steady in its resolve.
as we ascend beside each other through the noctilucence, i brush the dirt off my pants and hold my breath instinctively.
one light-second into the cosmos, we pause and gaze upon the macrocosm beneath us.
i look at her and she looks at me. i can't help but reach for her cheek as she reaches for mine.
there is, of course, nothing.
as it is above, so i am alone.
but still, i have learned how to hope.