Under every surface there is material, and every material has a surface. I rub it obsessively, like trying to pierce through it. The invisible layer becomes visible only with my oily fingerprints. I touch the glass as if it were your skin, although the surface stays cool regardless of my caress. Apathetic and reluctant expressions reflected on top of you. I position my body towards the door so that if you join me, you’ll see my better side. Clammy bed sheets stick to the skin, and opaque horses race in the air. Time passes, yet stays still. A room, a space like a hotel. Monochromatic and pale, clear surfaces and transparent layers. Ghosts from different times, different situations, different emotional states. Electricity hums in my ears as your body collides the surface. It doesn’t withstand abrasion anymore.

We often become aware of the surfaces of the corporeal only when sensing discomfort and pain. The skin is a surface that seems to contain us, but where others also affect us. The surface simultaneously isolates and contains the possibility for connection. (Sara Ahmed, The Cultural Politics of Emotion, 2018)