They are the ones watching me. I am the only one who can see them. Two luminous eyes, yellow and unforgiving. Two who do not exist but whose existence I cannot deny. Two terrifying reflections staring me down. From my bed I can see them, but the family rests on and doesn’t appreciate the severity of the eyes.

Their true source is a secret. They send rivets through my body. They continue to fade in and out and steal my serenity with their ominous and infinite depth, all the while bearing witness to my childish fears. This is how they gawk.

Let one forget his purpose of sleep, they would intensify like flares from the sun, each with the same devastating heat and intentions as the other. Gawk, gawk, gawk, eyes pierce as I squeeze my own shut. They blind.

When I am too weary and too exhausted to retain my vigilance, when I am a single color in the grand scheme of things, then it is I concede to the watchful eyes. When there is no way to remain conscious in this early hour. Two who remain visible despite the closet doors. Two who judge and never cease to judge. Two whose only motivation is to prolong and prolong.