I am there, right in front of her… but she can’t see me. As if she’s looking right through, like glass or air. She can sense my motion. She can see me move objects around. She sees me in every way that a common person would “see” something. She knows I am there. But she can’t see me — she doesn’t know who I am.
And how would I show her?
Slowly and gradually, I have been realizing what has been preventing me from sleeping early at night; it seems I have been wanting to write about her. And I know that unless I find the words that would do my story justice, these sleepless nights will never end.