The truth is that all this, almost all, is seen straining to see through a peephole. Any peephole that can be found, or rather, is found. Frustration and desperate obsession emphasise each other. A peephole in a mirror. Straining for any special intimate view. Acknowledging interest with an inviting smile. Straining to see that through a peephole in a mirror. Obsession not hope. Hope slipped to desperation. Caught in a mirror there, see this obsession. Hot stuff hot peephole. Want and can get, not the same by any means. Was it necessary? It was there. Calm down, well ready to receive. When? Whenever. Thanks for the advice. Anytime. Illustration of a well. That torn book, laid on sunlit window’s edge, pages tremor and flap. The hand that picks it up. That hand cast stones into a well, repeatedly shattering the reflection that lay accross the water while still. Many stones until no longer a well.