Play of Light

As if to escape unnoticed when the night at last comes to extinguish them, the final rays of sun at five in the evening slip through the slant of my window and linger over my eyes, imploring me to let them stay. As I squint in their presence I see, across the screen, similar rays streaked across one of many faces. The face, like mine, is divided, half light, half shadow, with brightness pressing softly along the cheekbones, dipping along the curves around the nose. Slowly, he and I are being transformed by the light. They say metamorphosis is a strange and wondrous thing, that no one really knows what it looks like. But here is a metamorphosis before my very eyes, as bones reconstruct and flesh moulds to bone, all rippling under smooth, glowing skin. And my face is no longer mine just as the face in the screen is no longer his. And then—eyes flash in recognition—there you are, in the face of another, like in some cruel mirror in which you have been cursed to stay. I cannot bear to look at you, for even in this virtual world it seems your eyes are piercing my mind, imploring me to let you go, you whose image has been conjured by a play of light.