“As I see it, you are living with something that you keep hidden deep inside. Something heavy. I felt it from the first time I met you. You have a strong gaze, as if you have made up your mind about something. To tell you the truth, I myself carry such things around inside. Heavy things. That is how I can see it in you.”
― Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

motionless, drifting, sleep.

I see her in the corner.

Her head tilts curiously.

How can she see me, with those hollow holes where eyes should be? I know she can see me. She smiles. She inches forward on hands and knees.

A futile attempt to regain consciousness. She’s closer.

Her face pressed to mine, mouth agape. Guttural whispers. A hand strokes my cheek. I clench my jaw. I anticipate…what?

I wake up. Five minutes has passed. Exhausted.

I want to cry and pull my hair out for no reason.