Driving home I was a passenger, like someone else has the wheel. I watched the sun come up on the longest day and the longest night, and I knew sleep could not come quick enough. At some point, in the middle of some long, straight stretch of tarmac I asked myself what day it was. Friday? Saturday? The white lines raced by reflected in the rear-view mirror, and the rising sun burned the low grey cloud a dull orange. Something had changed. They say it happens the first time those eyes look at you. They have no colour, and everything they see is unknown… yet you recognise them.

You see yourself in them.

Tags: general, looking back //