I felt like I was smiling, I could feel eyes on me, but there were either so many people to single out, or no one at all. The kind of contradiction that made it apparent that I was submerged within my subconscious. I could see books, whites, yellows, blues and browns through and in between figures. A crowded void, a contradictory space, full of movement without form and only allowing partial vision to its contours.
There was a note on the wall, a wooden wall, pinned roughly, on a discoloured piece of slightly crumpled paper with a tear in the corner. It had drawn on thin lines and in bold square black marker someone had wrote “When I look at you and I see you looking at me… its just beautiful”