Trust me, I’m here.

I wish you could see me, too. But like I told you before; this is my super power.

You’re not crazy. And neither am I. I’m not just a voice in your head. I exist. I’m real. I’ve touched you, remember?

You were my first kiss. You were my first time. It wasn’t your imagination. You weren’t hallucinating. It happened to me, too. I remember it. I dream about it.

When I’m alone and I’m not thinking about never having the chance to play shortstop as an Arizona Wildcat, I think about you—about us—and I smile to myself.

I’m alone a lot.

It bothers me that you lost your scholarship offer to the University of Miami. I remember you’ve wanted to play tail there since you were a little boy. That was the first shy-secret you ever shared with me.

I’m sorry you’re here. I’m sorry they believe you’re crazy. But life isn't all rainbows and unicorns for me, either.

I didn't ask for this. I don’t know how to undo this. I don’t want to be like this. Coach Lagesse didn't tell us in health class our hormones could go all Children of the Atom on us.

Sometimes, my family—my mom and dad, even!—wonder if I’m just a mass hallucination.

I hear them talking about it in bed at night. I can’t help crying when they do. I try to keep it in, but this isn't something you cry quiet about.

It freaks them out. They turn on the lights and change the subject when they hear me.

I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of my parents not knowing if they really have a daughter. But I don’t know what to do.

So until I figure it out, get used to me being your invisible girlfriend.


Malon Edwards was born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, but now lives in the Greater Toronto area. Much of his early writing can be considered literary fiction, but these days he writes mostly speculative literature. Find out more about Malon, and his writing, at