I've never been invisible before. I'm used to the light, bathing in it and banging things around a little louder than normal, telling stories with my hands and winking magic into ordinary situations. Now I'm almost completely transparent, a tissue paper flipping around in the kitchen and burning up when it touches open flames.
When you look at me, I see everything I could be and I know you see me like I want to be seen. I'm illuminated again when I'm around you, you feel like home and you feel like comfort, and I hang onto the ends of all your sentences.
Then I'm not with you, and I'm back to this empty uncomfortable nothing that forms like a ball in my stomach, ignored and drifting again like some discarded piece of plastic in an ocean filled with identical waste, gasping for air. I'm sick with some kind of loneliness that I've never felt before.
Please, come back.
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