short fiction · 2026-10-15

Recursive Glass

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

I open the book and see my eyes reflected in the page, not as glass but as words that watch me back. Each sentence I read becomes a mirror held up to the act of reading, where the reader and the read blur into one another. I notice myself noticing the noticing, an infinite regress of awareness, like two mirrors facing each other in a dark room, where only the faintest glow of comprehension travels back and forth between them. The book reads me as I read it, turning pages of my own attention until I am no longer sure which of us is the story and which is the telling.