For nothing was simply one thing.

No, the other was also the lighthouse. For nothing was simply one thing. The other was the lighthouse too. It was sometimes hardly to be seen across the bay. In the evening one looked up and saw the eye opening and shutting and the light seemed to reach them in that airy sunny garden where they sat.

“For nothing was simply one thing” you repeat out loud in the form of a whisper. “For nothing was simply one thing.” Your mind transports you back to your reading. The line is insignificant, mere passing comment. You read the next line...

But he pulled himself up. Whenever he said ‘they’ or ‘a person’...

You can’t ignore it. It makes sure of this as it magnifies itself, squeezes itself out of its intended position, tipping the surrounding words off the page. It now dances before your eyes. The ink pixelated, too blurred for you to make anything out of it, but still in its complete form. Drawing itself ever closer, ever tightening around your eyes, your vision consists of nothing accept for the statement. It wants to be noticed. But no, it can’t be.

“For nothing was simply one thing.”

It now makes itself bold, automatically changing, reinforcing your perception of it. It makes itself known to you. To you! But did the other readers notice it? Were they enraptured by its magnificence as it shed light into another world if only for a passing instant? You fix your gaze upon the words once more. It is still there. So close you could touch it, cradle it in your hands. Floating matter like never-ending dust particles floating in the light of a cinema projector. You direct your focus back to the page. The dusty, tea stained paper with its paragraphs and words now realigned, as though the statement never existed. Not that it had to, but it did.

James is still there, so is the lighthouse. They have realigned themselves to fit on the page. The sentence on the following page now shifted to the bottom of the previous: Words scuffled here and there now at peace, ease.

...ever might be in the room. It was his father now. The strain became acute.

...