I am what is when you don’t notice.
You notice when it’s not me – when my absence is too much your eyes squint; you reach for a hat, or sunglasses, or use your own hand if I leave quickly. You notice when my absence is so complete; well, you would, if you even knew what that was like – so complete that your ancestors reached, groped even, for a lantern. But you? You don’t know the complete absence of me – the void that is filled entirely.
You notice if I look nicer than yesterday; but, you don’t notice if I don’t give you either a repeat of a spectacular performance, or a significant improvement on what I gave you yesterday.
Some people say they like me – they like what I bring; what I conceal; what I reveal. But really, I know they don’t pay much attention and the little they generally pay is infrequent. But I am always on time and I always arrive. And leave. On time. I can never, and am never, early or late. You don’t even notice when I slip out – maybe, on an astute day, you notice I’m gone – but, long after. Long after I have left.
I’m like letters. Unless they do something exceptional, y o u d o n ‘ t r e a l l y n o t i c e e a c h oooonnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeee. Also, you’ll notice if they do something rong.