I'm in an unusual level.
As soon as I close my eyes, everything disappears. Or so I believe.
When I reopen them... everything reconstructs itself.
It seems the same, but small details are changed.
And if I convince myself that an element is different,
when it reappears, it's just as I convinced myself it was.
It's extremely disturbing.
It's said that when a tree falls in a forest,
it doesn't make any sound unless someone's there to hear it fall.
I spend ages wondering if this thought has any merit.
Is the world just that part of it that is perceived?
Must we consider that seeing something makes it real?
The place where I find myself, according to this axiom, is real;
at least as real as that in which I was
before this switch.
After all, I perceive everything just as before.
However, I can't help coming back to this question:
What if nothing's real
-nothing's ever been real-
to begin with?
What if everything erases itself as soon as you stop paying attention to it?
What if these words I write leave my mind
just to return to nothingness
the very next moment?
The page disappears as soon as I close my notebook.
Lying in wait, I make use of the canvas offered to me.
I paint on a reality more and more blank
- more and more empty -
of letters, of colours, of images, of sounds
of sculptures, of landscapes...
I try to fill my mind with the details of the world from before,
and to project them onto this world.
This level is my only chance.
If I believe hard enough,
if I sculpt her traits precisely enough,
if I replay her voice soft and clear,
if I paint the gilded pigments of her eyes and her hair,
if I manage to recreate all our memories together...
Maybe I can bring her back?
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