What is it to flect? And then to do it again? As if it were to regain—and always to face, to never turn your back. On. In fact, you wouldn’t dare. You’re just not sure—what is that other doing in the mirror? Not quite what I’m doing because it’s always just a split second further along—which is eerie, even haunting. And so proves that haunting is not a matter of the past’s coming back, but of the future’s casting you forward, making you into an omen of yourself.

And then there’s the reflection caught when passing a shop window, as if the window itself were passing, as if a window is always something moving on. What I mean to say is that I was moved by something in the window, and that as I passed it, someone passing by me on the other side seemed to pass right through me.

I read a similar thing in a book recently—a woman was standing in a dark room looking out the window into the darkness when another face appeared, and she couldn’t tell whether it was outside looking in or was, like her own face, also a reflection, and thus, of someone standing right behind her.