The Watchers I stand on the razor edge between being seen and truly existing. There is no prison, no freedom only the overwhelming presence of the gaze. A gaze that does not judge, but demands my existence. The more I try to hide, the more visible I become. The more I run, the tighter its hold grows. Here, freedom is neither escape nor surrender. It lives in this single trembling instant: when you know you are being watched by countless eyes, yet you still dare to look toward the horizon. I am both the prisoner of this gaze and its last remaining rebellion.