I look at you when you’re not here. I see you, I feel you. In front of our eyes, two white pillows with cotton pillowcases occupy the space of a commonplace, nailed to the wall as if they were a headboard. One has a voice, containing a detailed and time-consuming word written and frozen in cast bronze, thus preserving the marks of its manufacture in crochet. The other pillow retains the mark of a presence.