I am fascinated by the bathroom at night.

It has no windows, because it's on the interior of the apartment. My eyes are fairly light sensitive and I can see pretty well in the dark, so I don't turn on any lights if I wake in the middle of the night.

When in the bathroom, with the door closed and the lights off, it is pitch black. Not even ambient light from the apartment hallway can seep in. It feels like a completely different space.

The tiny room suddenly feels expansive and endless. I can stretch out my arm and I know I will touch the wall with ease, but still find myself in doubt as to whether or not it's still there until I feel it beneath my fingertips. And, still, the room feels different. I know where everything is, and yet still doubt it's existence in this space.

I wonder if I am truly alone. Although I cannot pierce the darkness, I wonder if something else is there, inhabiting the spaces I can't see. Are they as oblivious to my existence as I am to theirs? Or are they aware of me? Do we inhabit the same planes, in this small yet vast space?

I wonder if such things are possible. Beings living on this planet yet we do not encounter them, nor do them encounter us. We carry on our separate lives, and worlds, occupying the same space but unable to perceive the other.

What if they do know?

At times, this train of thought makes me paranoid about my perception of reality and imagination. Paranoid about what is lurking outside my feeble range of perception. Paranoid if they are watching me. Paranoid of their intentions.

Sometimes I lay in bed and resolutely refuse to look into the dark corners of my room. Afraid that if I do, I will see something peering back at me.

Sometimes it keeps me up at night. Most times I remember how late it is and nod of to sleep without as much as care.

The bathroom at night is fascinating and troubling.