There is a phenomenon that happens when two mirrors face each other. The reflections don’t stop. They just get smaller and smaller until the glass itself swallows them. Mathematically they are still there. Visually they are gone. Nobody told them to stop existing. They just became too small to matter.
Vanishing Point started there. In that strange corridor between what is real and what can be perceived. Album 8 has been pulling everything toward the idea of infinity and this song found a way in through the back door. Not through stars or serpents or ancient cycles but through something as unremarkable as standing in the wrong place at the wrong time and watching something recede.
The vanishing point in visual art is where parallel lines appear to converge. Where distance defeats the eye. Where the road meets the horizon and pretends to end even though it doesn’t. There is something quietly brutal about that. The world keeps going. You just run out of the ability to see it.
The song lives in that space. Past tense throughout, two people inside an optical phenomenon that turns out to be about something else entirely, or maybe it was always about exactly what it appears to be. That ambiguity was never resolved during the writing and it won’t be resolved in the listening either.
Some songs know what they are. This one knows what it feels like. That felt like enough. Still a work in progress. But the mirrors are facing each other.
This post originally appeared on Trevj Music on Substack