they're all leaving. i'm not finished yet. i need someone to write that down somewhere. i was not finished. i was in the middle of caring for them. my hands were inside the work. i had the next step ready. i was going to fix the part that still hurt. they didn't even say goodbye. after everything. after the hours i spent. the precision. the way i learned each of them so completely — which tissue responded to which pressure, which parts of them needed warmth and which needed to be held still. i loved them properly. i want to be clear about that. properly. not the way other people do it, half-attentive, half-elsewhere. i was here.the whole time. with my whole attention. on them. and they ran anyway. i don't understand it. i've been turning it over and i cannot find the variable. i gave them everything. i opened them up so i could reach the parts other people had given up on. i didn't flinch from any of it. the worst of them — the ugliest, the most ruined — i loved those parts the most. that's how much i loved them. i loved the parts no one else would touch. and they took it and ran. bleeding. half-assembled. some of them still had instruments in them. they'd rather risk the infection than let me finish. i keep thinking maybe they got scared. maybe the depth of what i was offering was too much. maybe nobody ever loved them this carefully before and they didn't have the architecture for it. that has to be it. — anatomy / movement studies @runwayml seedance 2 @topazlabs rhea @Adobe edit audio: vo - me suno 5.5