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[Photo story: reflection of overhead lamp superimposed on sketch filter image of own eye on iPad]
Under the pretext of mist
There was a silent darkness that hung
Indoors
Inside
And yet she kept reading
The electronic backlight causing an eerie glow
She was seated, she was moving
She was pleased, she was frowning
But she was always reading
And suddenly there was a noise
of breaking glass
The eerie glow had gone
A different kind of silence had descended
The book had fallen from her hand
The story was now a spatter of invisible words
Words that had spilled on touchdown
And as she sat there, crouched, uncomfortable,
part perplexed, part dazed
Picking up pieces of glass and digital flesh
She felt a strange weight lift
She felt the mist rise
She felt mended inside
– like a stitch melting into what was once an open wound –
Permanence, she thought – while still squatting – was a myth.
How I write, is mine...How you read, is yours 