My father told me about it once. A place, a thing, a time, I don’t really know what, but no-one can see your face. He called it darkness. He’s said it was like everyone went a little blind. He called it night.

A time, a place, a thing, I don’t know what, but no-one can see your face.

I go on a hunt for this mythical magic, this opportunity. A time where no-one can see my scars. Or is it a place? Or a thing?

Can I buy it and spray it over me like perfume?

Can I mark it on my calendar?

Can I find it on my map?

I want to hide my face.

I need to hide my face.

My father used to tell me stories of a time, a thing, a place, I don’t know what, but he called it darkness, he called it night.

He said at night you could cry and no-one saw your tears. He said you could stare into darkness and see nothing, or see everything.

Can I wear the darkness as a cloak? Crush it up and grind it down, brush it on my scars as make-up? Can I ask it to hide me? Is it a he or she, or non binary? Can the darkness speak? Does the night sing?

I don’t know what it- darkness, night- does, but I need to find it, I need to hide my face.