Is she next to me now?
Are you talking to her? chatter chatter
What are you whispering? hush hush
Secrets don’t make friends.
.
I can’t see her,
I can’t hear her
and I certainly am not her,
but I know she’s there.
They’re talking to her,
not me.
I know they are.
.
They don’t notice me,
they ignore me,
unless…
I make a noise;
I cry out in pain.
It is only then,
that their social sensors
pick up my existence
and hone in.
.
When they hone in
a stage light is trained on me
and I feel warmth.
When I am alone in the darkness,
I feel cold.
I don’t like the cold.
I feel invisible.
But aren’t I supposed to be the visible one?
.
To get my warmth,
there has to be pain?
To get companionship,
there has to be pain?
Why do they need to feel needed?
.
~
.
But I don’t like pain.
Would it be better to be alone?
Should I brave the cold?
.
.
.
.
I will,
one brief light or shining moment
is not worth the pain.
A sliver of warmth
is not worth a seemingly endless cold.
.
I realize it now,
I’ve been swindled out of valuable time.
.
No one was ever beside me.
Other people were talking to me,
I just didn’t/couldn’t listen.
By prioritizing them,
I missed out on all the other lights,
just beyond the cranial rim
and through the eyes.
.
There is no invisible girl.
Or is there?