By Raul Garcia
I don’t know if it was because of what I saw, how I stayed up all the way for the impending dawn, from an impulse to remain awake, dreamless, watching all things occupying the bedroom, invisible, gradually retake form, becoming apparent, forged by sunlight’s drift through the blinds, the skin of darkness slipping, burning through the visible, that I could no longer see my mirror image, just a black smudge of a figure, like a humanesque haze, standing before me unknown to me, my bed, a block of impenetrable darkness, and I was afraid to return to it, fearing I might fall into its prismatic abyss, but the windows, still bright, yet I stayed away from them, how I might blindspot other things, these stains of night that day cannot absolve, how I may never see your image again, because I cannot sleep.
Raul Garcia is a filmmaker from Jersey City, NJ.
Art by Raul Garcia.