The Invisible Man

Thank you so much, Fatima. I have no words. This is arguably the most amazing birthday gift ever. God bless you, and I hope you find all the happiness in the world.

The Vagabond Inamorata

I never met him. I don’t know him, I wouldn’t be able to recognize him on the street. I’ve never heard his voice, but I can imagine it. I can hear the lullaby my sister sang to me when I had bad dreams echo in his laugh. He doesn’t have green eyes, but I see in them the best friend I lost to death so many years earlier. I don’t know what he thinks about when he wakes up, I don’t know how he likes his eggs or whether he likes eggs at all. But I do know scenes from his life, little snippets of memory and grief and longing and self-discovery. He loves his family. He is loyal to his friends. He misses his mother. I wonder if it’s hard for him to sleep at night without her the way it is for me without my sister. He loves…

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About thedevastateddreamer

The world is on its knees. How far can you crawl? View all posts by thedevastateddreamer

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