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I started with an eye. Because the eye sees what I can’t say. |
I opened the book, and this was the first thing waiting for me: graphite lines pressed into the inside cover, an eye that sees more than it should. She wrote her name here, as if she might lose herself. A spiral. A triangle. A row of red spirals where the reward should be. "Por que?" Why? scribbled like a question that never really wants an answer. And a tiny Polaroid frame with question marks inside it, like a clue waiting for film.
Small shapes in the margins like they’re holding secrets.
Scribbles that feel half-invitation, half-warning.
Sometimes I think the eye is watching me back.
These pages are fragments left behind by Isabel S., no more and no less. © I.S.
