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We were each afflicted with our own visual disability: he couldn’t see me and I couldn’t see his photo.

And that’s how I’ve felt at every moment of my life: Oh, whatever. Let’s just say this is me.

In my life I never see the glass half full. Or half empty. I always see it on the verge of toppling over. Or I don’t see it at all. There is no glass. Nothing’s there. I’m staring at an ugly table with nothing on it. The table itself might disappear. In fact, it already has. What I’m left with isn’t its absence, only puzzlement. Sorry, I can’t remember. What is it I was supposed to see again? I don’t know where to find the answer, because at that point the question has also disappeared.