He asked me what it felt like to be invisible. I didn’t know what he meant.
“You know,” he said, the coffee in his hand was hot and he blew the steam away, looking at me over the rim.
But I didn’t know.
“To slip in and out of my night dreams and my daymares, to come and go as you please. You pay no mind.”
This was true. The sun was just coming up and it turned the inside of his kitchen this majestic yellow and orange, light so warm I could take off all my clothing and bathe in it. He kept going.
“You know, sometimes I think I see you in other people and in shadows, or in memories. But I do not think I am ever right.”
He was not right. I was only, exactly where I was, for the instant I was there for.
“Sometimes I think I get what I’ve got coming to me. And I do not think you are it,” he finished.
I’d been laying there long enough that the coffee grew cold and the light in the kitchen changed. And then I left.