Here, I have collected your moments of reflection as if a mirror held up to your face could capture your shadow. In the dark it’s only an idea and I trace out your image from memory or at least the most plausible reconstruction.
It’s raining, washing down the window in waves, creating a thick film that diffuses the light. The lightning flashes and I can see the outline of your face, highlights standing out from your body and shadows deeply incised.
Your lips move, making out the same word each time. I try to make out what it is and turn in frustration to the window, wiping away the fog to peer through the glass. I can only make out the neon sign across the street. It’s not working completely and I can’t tell what they’re selling. The only word that is lit up keeps flashing, pink, then yellow, then pink again. The letters are soft and glowing from the rain, filtering into the night, changing the color of the landscape from one unnatural hue to the next.
When I look up from the street, I see your reflection superimposed upon the message flashing in the window. I look between you, the street and the word. You mimic each other. Your mouth opens and closes to the cadence of the sign: here, here, here.