I stared at the image multiplying in an action suspension, but I could not fully seize the mystery of meeting oneself. I chased a movement, I courted it as to let it fall in my lens, it slipped away enough to feel me satisfied. I lost a love amongst unnatural and sluggish waters, I looked at it quite that long, as it denied its eyes, becoming anonymous and seductive. I caressed a weakness, a fear, a forgiveness, I distanced from them as to see, I filtered my intrusive gaze so as to prevent admitting inappropriateness. I stared through an old window, accustomed to be stained by time and sorrow, an escape to contemplate, a joyful shade creeping and inviting me to live. I harvested your hands after intense pleasure, handing over weigh to stone, drying in the still wind and in a ceremonious Sun, I saw and halted them as you do with dreams in the morning. I covered your body with disclosures, not to tell the world this is for the best and not explicitly stated cruelties, not to keep a position of power; only to refine an attack to the ruling system. I saw as you stared at yourself, and I knew about you as your reflection knows, I saw pains and the feminine winter, I sucked up light from above, the light wrote you, the light wrote you and then you. I saw the end, the tip of the shoe, the farthest corner. I noticed every piece, every detail but I still could not retrace an image of you.
