i have often felt frayed at the edges slightly,
as if at any moment I would fade into nothing,
the way ink dissipates when water hits the page.
there are moments when I feel real again.
sometimes when the air is cold enough to sting my throat, I swear I am visible.
sometimes when the sun rises early in the morning, and the fog rolls across the street, and the birds softly awaken, I swear the world sees me too.
but the feeling is fleeting,
and once again I feel like the faint sound of a seagull in the distance, or the quiet sensation when you know it’s about to rain.
almost there, but not quite.