Revisiting old stories tonight. I had forgotten how much work I put into this one. I might have to pick it up again, but I’m not sure if I’m in the mood for invisible, melancholy friends when it’s so nice outside and the city is so full of so many different things I don’t know yet.
When you’re invisible you become close to the wind. Because you’re unseen you feel a connection to other unseen things and the wind, as loud and obvious as it is, is one of the most important. You can feel the wind. The wind makes noise. Nobody knows what the wind looks like but everyone knows it’s there. When you’re invisible the wind becomes like a brother or a sister. You are almost the same thing. Sometimes, when you are lonely, you imagine yourself as a part of it. Sometimes you try to move with it. You make the wind’s movements your movements so that you drift through your days feeling like you are part of something larger than yourself. Sometimes, you can even trick yourself into thinking that you really are the wind. That maybe the wind is simply a collection of other invisible people like yourself, trying to move together and become something they aren’t.
The wind is funny though. It isn’t solid. You can walk through it. If the wind is a collection of beings, they would have to be ghosts. And though you have thought of this many many times, and tested this possibility many many times, you are not a ghost. Nothing can move through you. You cannot walk through walls. You hit things. You feel things. You get hurt and bleed on occasion. Your blood is invisible but it is wet to the touch and tastes sweet. You can drift, it’s true, but only in the way that all people, even visible people, drift from time to time.
You are not a ghost and you are not the wind. Sometimes though, sometimes you wish you were.