I never met my twin. I absorbed them in the womb—but they've never left me. I shelter them in place, inside my body: small features, mirrored shapes, things that don't belong only to me. This work is a way to honor that shared secret life—a tribute, even if it never had the chance to unfold fully. They are with me. I imagined us together as children, sharing everything—even the backseat of the car, where my mind placed them beside me, matching scars as we slid across the sticky vinyl. The touch of that memory is strange. Tender, but alien. A ghost sibling I've always known. This diptych holds that tension. Two faces, side by side, blurred and indistinct. Fire and ice. Hunger and stillness. We might have been opposites, but we were always orbiting the same center. This image is a portrait of that bond—made not from clarity, but from a memory shaped by invention and fact. Blurred and doubled, the image resists singular form. Two faces dissolve into one, then separate again. It's an image of loss, yes—but also of recognition. Of a lifelong tension that became, somehow, a kind of solace. We weren't always safe, but we were never alone. Image Description: A diptych featuring two soft-focus, indistinct human forms seated side by side. Visible from the chest up and appear nearly identical in posture and scale. Facial features are obscured by intentional blur, and no specific age, gender, or ethnicity can be determined. The forms appear wrapped or veiled in a translucent material that creates a smooth, plastic-like texture across the surface of the image. The background presents a muted, gradient-like atmosphere in tones of green, blue, cyan, and yellow, with pinkish fleshy hues visible in the figures themselves. Soft vertical bands of darker color intersect the composition, contributing to a sense of containment and ambiguity. The artist used a physically altered lens to evoke emotional memory, perceptual distortion, and themes of duality and embodiment.