My Second Letter to an Absent friend

I do, it is true, it is as you say. I live by my artless art of fiction when I fictionalize you, because next time we meet I’ll try, as much as I could, to live by the things already settled in words written during the morning. You see, mornings are not always about coffee, they’re also about fiction because since you do not exist what else can I do but seek you in the most absurd places. On top of the fridge, I think it’s the most obvious place. Then, when you sit with me at the table I know for sure you do not exist because there is only one cup, and one spoon, and only one croissant, half eaten. I try to eat the other half but I can’t because I know your lips have touched it and if I were to feel you scent on it then I’ll know for sure you do not exist. This morning I noticed something very strange: the croissant was missing and the cup of coffee was empty. I checked it twice to avoid one of my existential fears. I forgot to tell you about it, about this existential fear of mine. I’m afraid that at one moment somebody is going to come to me and say that I haven’t done a thing that I already did, and I won’t be sure whether I had done it or not. So then I’ll be shocked because I’ll lack the possibility of saying that I’m sure I did it, because I checked it twice. When I switch the light off in order to go to bed I check every room twice to see if there aren’t any burning candles even though I know there are no candles in the house. So the croissant was missing, and you were missing too. You weren’t on top of the fridge. I even tried the restroom to see if you haven’t drowned into the toilet. I checked it twice. And I panicked because you did not leave any note on the fridge. I tried to fictionalize this disappearance but it didn’t work, so I tried to fictionalize you again but you appeared to have blue eyes and not yellow as you used to. I checked every corner of the house but you weren’t there. Then, something even weirder happened. Somebody else got into the house and I tried to talk to him but he wouldn’t listen. He looked right through me like I didn’t exist. I noticed some similarities between you and him, the same hair, almost the same clothes, except the eyes. He had blue eyes, you have yellow eyes.

He even sat at your computer and started writing something which I couldn’t understand, something about an absent friend with yellow eyes. So I left him alone and went to the restroom to wash my face hoping that this illusion would soon vanish and you could come back. But as I looked into the mirror, as normal people usually do, I noticed that my eyes had suddenly changed, and they were yellow. Yes, I’m sure of it. I checked it. Twice.