MOON
o
M y l e F t the
The moon fills half the sky, yet seems smaller than usual. Perhaps it’s nearer. Through a translucent wall I can see myself; more a fraction than a true representation, face fuzzy, hair rendered in a single, solid block. Opposite me a woman is seated. She is far more detailed – short black hair contrasts with her pale face, around her glows a blueish hue. She seems to have been painted with a thick brush, all her features are strong, yet none dominates the other. My mind knows she’s important. “ – and you’re certain that I exist?” she asks. “You’re right before me,” I answer, the words flowing through me. I have not chosen them. “I am forced to bear your presence – I can’t see how that makes me real, however.” “How else could you be here?” “Perhaps your mind has created me” she said, sipping from a glass of wine which has appeared in her hand. “Why it would inflict such torture upon me, I don’t know.” “I’m not sure that my mind could create one greater than my own.”
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