A red-dotted outline in the shape of a person sits beside me. It is flat yet moving, invisible to everyone else, but sharp enough to carve itself into my vision. It follows me everywhere, an obedient companion.

This one-dimensional figure lingers in doorways, sits beside me at empty tables, and breathes in the spaces where sweet nothings should be. At night, it invites itself into my bed.

I can feel the weight of its presence when it is near, it makes me wonder how something without form can press so heavily against me. How can unfilled spaces thicken the air, making each breath a struggle?

I long for a place where breathing is easy, where I am not haunted by the shape of what is missing. I hope to exist in a space where absence does not take form and follow me home. And so, I find myself asking for something real. Flesh and bone, warmth and heartbeat. Something tangible.