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Mirrors reflect, glasses protect, eyes project. I recently came into contact with something that made me forget what it means to see things.
To Ridley Scott, the human is like "a two-way mirror; the eye doesn't only see a lot, the eye gives away a lot." Eyes tell deeper stories than they're assumed. They reveal how someone has reacted through all that they've been through, the depths of the pain they've shouldered, and how they're looking towards, or away from, what's awaiting ahead of them.
Everyone's set of two-way mirrors are subtle but magnificent in their own rights. For their human's entire journey, they've been using those sets of mirrors to record onto their own unique rolls of film and into irreplicable memories that can never be viewed for a second time. Every scene and every view is unique, and whatever crosses those viewfinders will never cross them for a second time again. Each recorder's experiences and stories shape how they frame their perspectives, and influence the things they usually put focus on.
They're my gateway into that one secret society. That's why the drive to view this roll of film of me catching a glimpse of this one star for time and time again has been taking me aback.
Every now and then, my roll of film will come into resonance with a frame from another roll of film I'm lucky enough to encounter in the abyss. A built-in flash will light up, prompting me to zoom closer and discover more about why my stories and perspectives are singing the same song as another.
Stars that burned louder and brighter than usual had already burned themselves away from the Main Sequence, out of the cosmic fabric, and slipped out of reach of the viewfinder. All that's left are the ones that burn stable enough for their light to transcend time and space and have their photons imprint on an impressionable roll of film. Or maybe some stars are just simply bright enough in that stability to make it to my perception.
Because what if there was one more star? What if there was one that just blinked into arrival when I thought I had already lost myself amid the vast canvas of it all? What if there was one that overcomes that fabric of disorder and pierces through my retina and into the firework chains of my nerves and into my chest?
Because everything calms down in the cold of the night sky, and only the brightest lend their light. And amidst the darkness looking upwards is where I fit, basked in tranquility and observation, because a cosmic child with a camera, when the clock inches minutes from midnight, will shoot for the stars.
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