What if blindness were incurable; a sickly sight so cold and narrow that even the brightest hour daren't penetrate it? What if with my eyes wide open as I stare straight through I don't see what is there to see? What if I miss the glaring truth while knowing I see the very secrets hidden within? While I smile in the darkest shade believing the gloom to be my friend and confidant? Vigilantly oblivious to all but the slightest detail, the minutae of the ridiculous? Watching as if with the eye of a hawk but seeing only the faint outlines afforded the bat? Am I looking for what isn't there? Or what is? Or do I know at all? Is what I am looking for real fiction or fictional reality? Do I see what I want to see or what I think I ought to see? Can I see at all? What if I see it but don't believe my eyes? What if I behold the truth and believe it false? What if I laugh in the face of reality in my bid to escape it? What if I refuse to see for too long and look back to see only what I have missed?
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