I don’t exist. The track unravels empty across the moor – the physical world contains no first person singular. Though my spirit presses insistently on the arches of my eye socket, like a hawk trying to escape a cage, really the thing’s a ghost.
Fingers flutter and reach for yours. “Give me a hug,” I say.
Even if the outside domain has no room for an “I”, there is a “you”. I know that because I can see you. And through “we”, for a time, I can feel myself in the world.
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on reveals.