Esteban Obando

Tunnel Vision

A set of hazel irises dipped in milk admire me from outside the window. They belong to a face with towering cheekbones and full lips, the edges of which curl upwards like cherry stems. Bangs of brown hair dance atop a polished forehead to the rhythm of the speeding train. It is the most beautiful face I have ever seen, my own. We’ve been contemplating each other now for as long as I can remember. And before that? There is no before. A semi-circle of light invades the horizon and the face drips into the ocean.