Close. Too close.

A face — stitched from others. Eyes unsynced: one in terror, one already drowned. Skin peeling like old film scorched by light.

You zoom in, and it starts to tremble. The photograph itself. Reality itself.

You taste salt on your tongue. And a dreadful, hopeless feeling that you’ve seen this before.

Maybe because it was in the mirror. This morning.

_XV//___XV1