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44 days

(Day 441)

Travellling back at night, and the window of the illuminated carriage serves as a mirror. I find myself there, picked out from the dark, slightly refracted. There's something about this semi-reliable image of me that appears quite beautiful. I sense that I can see deeply into my own soul. I am company for myself, and that the window blurs and this poor light distorts makes me only keener to hold on to my image. I appear both familiar and vague, both myself and my reflection. I search my image in the way that one is sometimes unable to stop staring at a disfigured face.