"I am an invisible man.
No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allen Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids - and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination - indeed, everything and anything except me." .
I am an invisible man. And I'm out of cup noodles.
It has been rather grey lately; ominous grey clouds loom over the hills obscuring the snow-topped peaks, globs of brown and black slush blanket the grass, and vicious, eager puddles await the soles of poor unsuspecting victims as they step out of their fancy automobiles. Yet still, I have found my days to be illuminated with brief but caressing sunlight, streaming through the windowsills and gently pouring onto the various surfaces of marble and wood, onto the blank canvases of my skin. The sedentary flora around my house enthralls my heart and enhances my senses, extenuating the stresses and worries of the outside world while at the same time satiating my mind to the brim. Moments pass and the sunlight fades, but it's warmth remains still.
"It's always darkest before the dawn."
I was able to talk a bit with a friend of mine yesterday outside of class. She asked me, "Would you wait for her?"My answer was "Yes.""That's sweet," she said.All over again.
