‘I looked at my mouth in the mirror, I didn’t want to look at my eyes. Why not? It wasn’t guilt, exactly. I was alone in my room, I didn’t have much to feel guilty about. My mouth I could control, my eyes I couldn’t: in my eyes I’d get lost. A woman might give me reasons, but I didn’t need those anymore. You could have told me perhaps, why didn’t you? The eyes lie, of course. And the mouth? The eyeless eye. It lies too, of course, but differently. Faint nausea. Fingers typing, eyes watching: lying. And you, does this nausea worm though you as it does through me, doesn’t it come from you?’


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