There’s this parallel life running alongside yours.

They usually don’t intersect except every once in a great while. When your eyes won’t close late at night like someone is holding the lids open for you to look at something, but you’re not sure what so you just keep looking and looking until you see that parallel life and go Oh My God, there I am, that’s me if I had gone there instead of here or said this instead of that and then the longer your eyes stay unblinking they see farther back into the space before you were born. In that space, which is dark and wet and grey, your eyes notice things like your parents falling in love and laughing in a car and you’re not even in the picture. You’re not even an idea yet. You’re not even a kiss.

You’re simply a pair of dry eyes…