Night

The night is made up of stars that don’t shine. Sometimes you see them align in a way that barely makes any sense, except to one who detects patterns. It is a night that is made up of stars that don’t shine. And because of that, it is hard to think of any other place to be, other than the one here.

You enter into the photograph because you think you can. But it is clear that the photograph is there for another reason. You were going to become part of it, but the distance between you and it has lengthened, you are becoming a character that cannot be understood or seen, except through the lens sharply. And who else was going to see you anyway? You see yourself as part of the thing that has disappeared, that is now coming to be…

A picture of the night. You are arranged around a table. There are two others who see you there. You clutch the faded image in your hands, waiting for it to fade into your mind. Nothing arises. As you continue sitting someone approaches you. It is hard to tell if you know that someone, but the photograph seems to have interest him.

The neon lights cast a pink and purple glow onto his face. He seems to be someone you once knew. A vague image fills your memory, while you try to retain what is in the photograph for a moment. Photographic image and reality image flash and combine for one second - before you look up and see nothing but a high ceiling, the lights going on and off periodically, the space breeding some impossible vertigo. And now someone else has approached you from the back…

Sharp pain. Something in your ribs sticks out. It is a night made up of stars that don’t shine. It is a good night.