DESIGNATION: WANE

Wane is wrapped. Not to protect, not to hide, but because something underneath is always in the process of being lost. The gauze holds the shape of what was there. It frays at the edges, tightens when ignored, cracks when forgotten. It adds layers not out of vanity but necessity, each one a small act of preservation against the erosion it can't quite stop.

But gauze has memory. And when the body moves, really moves, under strain, under pressure, the wraps loosen. Not unwrapped, never fully. Just slack enough to breathe. Enough to remember that relevance isn't something conferred from outside, but worked back into the body, layer by layer, from within.