A conversation with my shadow!

I was asleep. Not the gentle kind. The kind where the body shuts down because it has argued enough with the mind. That’s when he arrived.

He came quietly. Slipped in beside me like he had every right to be there. I say ‘he’ because I am one. Whatever comes out of you usually carries your gender and your sins.

He held me close. Too close. I didn’t notice how tight until I woke up and felt that familiar pressure, the kind that never leaves fingerprints.

Hello, I said. Long time no see.

I smiled because that’s what I do when I’m cornered.

I was always around, my friend, he said, almost amused.

I got up and walked to the kitchen. My feet knew the way even if I didn’t. I started making coffee. Black. Dark enough to absorb light.

Something felt off. I never drink this kind of coffee awake. I am a “Ginger Tea” man. If it’s coffee, it’s filter coffee. Anything darker feels like an agreement with something I don’t trust. Because when you consume something that dark, sometimes it consumes you back.

Looks like you’re already home, my shadow said, peering into the cup.

That’s when it hit me. I was still dreaming. I had to be. And then I realized the coffee wasn’t for me. It was for him.

You should give up, he said, sipping it like it was made for his mouth.

Haven’t I already? I asked. No hesitation. No drama.

No, he said. You’re still hoping. Still looking for reasons. Still a stubborn little bastard who hasn’t learned how to quit properly. Just like me.

I felt something tear loose inside.

I told him about my family. My small, fragile universe. A wife who sees through my silences. A son who doesn’t yet know how pain travels through bloodlines.

I told him about my scars. I don’t wear them on purpose. They just show up. I don’t want them anymore. But they were carved too deep. My parents didn’t raise me, they engraved me. Their voices still live in my bones.

How would you know any of this, I snapped. You’re just a black, lifeless thing stuck to my feet.

He didn’t flinch.

Look, he said. I exist because you do. You give me shape. You give me breath. I don’t care about your scars. I’m not responsible for them. But I’m very good at hiding things.

If they see the real you, they’ll see the pain you’re made of. The cost. The weight. But with me, you blend. In the dark, we become camouflage. Nobody sees you. Nobody sees what you feel.

That’s a hell of a superpower, isn’t it?

Something about that felt rehearsed. Dangerous. So I let him continue.

Go on, I said. Tell me how to disappear from myself.

I know the maze. I know every turn, every dead end. I know which memories jump out with knives. How do I forget the way back to me?

He went quiet. Shadows don’t like questions they can’t dodge.

He stood there thinking. Long. Still. Then he looked at me. I felt warmth for the first time. Not comfort. Recognition.

I don’t know, he said. I wish I had a conscience. I was created in one dimension. I only move straight. I can answer how, never why.

The world will collapse on you sometimes. You’ll feel like dropping everything. Your empathy for your wife and son. For yourself. For the entire circus you survived.

But there is no single answer. I am with you only in the dark.

When the light hits you, I stay behind. On the ground. Still connected. Still yours.

So all I can hope is that you shine.

That gave him away.

I woke up suddenly. Opened my eyes. First relief was knowing I wasn’t blind. I could still see. Who was real. What was real. The room was quiet.

My shadow lay on the floor. Flat. Familiar. Waiting.

I smiled.

And I swear, it smiled back too.