The Cold

The first thing I noticed was the cold. I was alone, or at least I thought I was, until I felt her.

She turned to me; I could feel her eyes on mine. My heartbeat increased. It wasn’t fear, or lust, or anxiety. It just was.

She sat by me for hours, not saying a word. It was strange, she was strange. I couldn’t put my finger on why.

We talked a little, but she didn’t seem to know much. Or maybe she knew too much. It was hard to tell.

When I left, I didn’t say a word. I almost squeezed her shoulder, but part of me knew I shouldn’t.

It took me months to accept the truth, but I now know what that night was. What she was.

He was looking at me; I was looking at him. I wondered if he knew. He had to know.

No one had talked to me in years. I would sit there, in the same place every day, but no one ever attempted to acknowledge my existence.

I never asked his name, and he never asked mine. After hours of silence we began to speak about anything but ourselves.

He left when the night was over, no goodbye, no indication of an intention to return. I haven’t seen his face in years, but I still think about him sometimes, still wonder if he knew.

Did he know I was dead?