Transparent

Do you ever feel like a sheer curtain? You feel people pass by— moving you, walking through you. You just hang there. Swaying in the wind.

What happens when we feel invisible? When every atom hurts, because the emptiness inside the body is vast, and you know— only someone’s conscious presence could fill it.

What do we do with feelings no one sees, but that burn like lazy noonday sun?

When the body wants to scream, but it's not allowed.

What do we do with invisibility? With that deep knowing that we exist — but no one sees it?

What confirms to the body that it is alive? Pain?

How do we nurture comfort when there’s no time for it?

Is a person no one sees just as alive as the one being hugged?

Does a text have meaning if no one reads it?

How much do we really depend on others?

If we’re born to go through everything alone, why are we born on a planet with eight billion people? Isn’t that cruel?

Do you know the feeling of being invisible?

Do you remember when we were kids, and we wished for the secret power of invisibility?

Oh, what a mistake. Because — it hurts.

Pain hurts.

And — no. There’s no lesson here. This text won’t teach you how to be visible.

It’s only here to say that some of us feel this way.

If someone asks me what my favorite color is, I’ll say: transparent.

Because sometimes, that’s all I am.

And still — when everything quiets down, I can hug myself. Tell myself out loud that I’m here.

I can jump and hear the thump on the floor. Clap my hands. Hear the sound I’ve made.

And imagine drawing my invisible, glowing sword, lifting it to the sky — as I start laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Truly — the only way to get through it.