FADING LOVE
When I first saw you, you faded in and out of existence, and I mean that literally. Sometimes I would look over, and you were there, solid and breathing and real. Then I’d blink, and you’d fade, sometimes not all the way, but into a translucent figure, there, but not. I tried to resolve myself to the belief that I’d imagined you. I resolved myself to get more sleep and drink less caffeine, but you were still there, and other times, you were not.
I pretended as if you were just in my head and did not exist, but I could feel your breath and sense your gaze. Sometimes you looked solid, but were missing parts of you. Not in a gruesome way, like the horror movies, but in a way that made me think of an imprint, burned into a very old television.
This was years ago, and I’ve since pushed you from my mind, but sometimes, when the lighting is just right, I see your reflection, or shadow and repeat to myself you’re all in my mind.
