One of the clearest memories I have of a certain ex-boyfriend of mine is the way his forearm looked in the sun, one day eight or so years ago, while on a farm in the French countryside. I had a dream once that I was someone else, and I was thinking of me; this someone else hadn't seen me in a long time, so the details of my face in his memory were shadowy. ___ships_ is a play on these two experiences, and a personal exploration into the fugue of memory.
