I see faces everywhere
invisible faces,
the faces I believe only I can see.
I see them
in patterns,
in between hidden twigs.
They must be the result of my constant state of absence,
my abyss of woven midnights.
The days walk by on the road,
i always think about reclusion and insufficiency of faces in a faraway town.
The fallen conversations with eyes,
the experience of hangovers and warm sunlight,
the life that every death gives
with most certainty…
When I look in the mirror I see so many people trying to get out of my skin
and I see myself holding them all together to make a flexed posture of mine.
So many features, so many fictions,
so many conclusions in a confined space,
My essence must be in the aesthetics of play.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Francesca Woodman.