Bilal Mohamed
writer. artist. curator.





Puncture Wounds
   It felt very much like we had left puncture wounds in each other’s hearts. Maybe with some rebuilding, we thought – a few bandages, some transplanting and a little bit of work, we could become comfortably, maybe even functionally whole.
   But treatment was not easy. We had no novacane to numb the thumbing around in our organs as we lay conscious and close enough to inhale each other’s breaths. With time, however, we managed to patch things up. And when we did, she began to feel very alien to me.
   Our unity seemed, ‘unnatural’. As the only natural part of us, had forever been our incompatibility.