The Invisible Girl Beside Me

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?

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