Invisible

(adjective) Not perceptible or not easily noticed; hidden from attention.

He admires her loyalty, her nurturing, her unwavering commitment. Unbeknownst to him, these aren’t qualities to admire in a woman, they’re functions. In her loyalty, he sees unconditional reliance; in her nurturing, he seeks to be taken care of.

Forever, until death do them part.

She writes the words, and her hand trembles, as if her body knows what her heart still denies.

How could he reduce her to three simple functions? He must not be paying attention.

Perhaps she’s made it too easy to disappear, all in the name of being good, being palatable.

Or perhaps, that was never hers to carry. Anyone truly paying attention would see her: in all her complexity, in all her contradiction.

But who is she?

What would they perceive if they really knew her?

She’s multilayered, making it difficult to narrow down. If not careful, they’ll misunderstand her entirely.

As I write, I think of the traits she would’ve liked to hear. The ones that give her shape and soul in a chaotic, shifting world. The ones that live beyond her function to any one person, rooted instead in something richer.

Rooted in the deeper truth of our shared human experience.

Perceptive. Inquisitive. Passionate. Creative. Kind. Tenacious. Marked. Resilient.

Perhaps, she isn’t invisible at all. She’s only made invisible to those who live in exile. To those too afraid to look inward, too fragile to face their own reflection.

In the end, it isn’t blindness that keeps them from seeing her, but the refusal to turn inward, where recognition begins.

Perhaps it takes the fearful, yet courageous. The curious, yet tender hearted. The wounded, yet quietly evolved to truly witness another human soul.

It’s possible that this was never about her at all.

And so the truth quietly unfolds: one can only meet another soul as deeply as they’ve met their own.