Do you look yourself in the mirror at night? Not to see if your hair is unkempt, or if you’ve put on/lost/ misplaced any weight, or if you’ve turned into another person without you knowing it. Just to observe yourself, as you are.

For now, just look into your eyes. Let everything else disappear; leave your eyes behind. Good. Let nothing else tug away at your non-existent skin. What were your eyes like? Like marble? Like a polished stone, reflective, dead but signifying life – a paradox? Like watching your own reflection within the walls of a polished elevator? Or do you see yourself within your eyes, shrunken and convex? I don’t know what you see, because your eyes are not like mine.

What you can’t see, is the brown halo in your eyes like the aging of an old photograph, a certain sepia creeping. What you don’t see, is everyone else. Your eyes look like your mother’s; your mother’s, her mother’s. You don’t see the infinity of lives with eyes just like yours, all the others looking into their eyes at night.