She lives in the white house down the street. The one with the black shutters.  She stands at the front door looking at traffic pass through the storm door. Sometimes those driving by see her and throw up a hand to wave and others simply look away.

What would she do if she were driving by, would she have waved at her? Or just kept driving along.  She smiles when she thinks of people who have greeted her today, because she often wonders if she is invisible. Only visible to herself when she looks in the mirror trying to find something to smile about.

She does not live alone, there is another who shares the space.  However, she still feels like being invisible is best, at times.  She has a place on social media, and many follow her and read the encouraging words that she writes weekly, but she wonders if anyone will ever know the real her…

The person that loves to be hugged, kissed and loved. That person that lives inside her that has been asleep for so long. She wonders if that part of her will slumber until death.  Why does that part of her sleep? Perhaps it is sheer exhaustion. 

Stay tuned…