The conversation - transient beings

KZ: the darkness reflects the light at times - in windows of darkened stores and sleeping schools we find ourselves blurred and shapeless, but what else would we be?


KP: we would be shadows of ourselves. For darkness is the absence of light, and schools these days have locked doors, windows barred like prisons. Soon we may not even have windows at all. Then like shapeless blurs of cars rushing past into the night, streaking bright color across closed eyelids, we will not even recognize our faces under the sun.

too late. the faces are already fading, and the streetcars slamming on brakes as our passing reflections smile and grimly walk away. We stay behind and lose half of ourselves. Where are the rest? 
But who will wait but us? We cannot leave behind what would be had we left. and the decision has been made to say Goodbye, Reflection. Speak of me in the new world. For am I fading or are you? one of us is gone.


It is you who are gone. I am still here, your reflection, smiling grimly as you walk away. Or am I walking away and you remaining? I look back over my shoulder to meet your eyes. I am afraid.

One of us is real

and the other is a reflection.

Behind your blurred and shapeless form I see approaching headlights. The streetcar is screaming to a halt but it will not stop in time. The question on both of our lips - who will die? What will happen to the reflection when the true body is destroyed?

You will not leave me here alone to pass beyond, even if we stop the car and the car stops us. Then we will all be stopped together and gone together, but someone won't, and maybe they'll live better because of it. Until they learn, take my hand and we will open the next door. I think there will be blinding beautiful light there but I'm never sure, and part of me has always wondered what it would be like to taste and touch and smell and hear the world without sight. And what a world this one might be! Here goes nothing. Here goes Nothing. Here comes Nothing. Are you coming too? Tell me if I should wait, or if the car is a dream like we are and will pass before us and through us like shadowy reflections on barred school windows.