It was funny, she thought, how people never did what they wanted to do, never said what they wanted to say. It was something she’d given a lot of thought to, and she had more or less decided that people, herself included, usually didn’t do or say what they wanted out of fear. Fear of consequences, of other people seeing them and knowing. It was strange; she still hadn’t figured out why people were this way. But, she supposed she would eventually. In the meantime, she had taken to daydreaming about invisibility cloaks, under which one could not be seen, could not be heard, was rendered completely phantasmal for any length of time, and as such could do or say whatever they wanted without fear.
She knew that such things were imaginary; it would be far too convenient to simply reach into her closet and pick out a shimmering, indefinite cloak over a thick winter coat and be free. She thought that, even if such a thing as an invisibility cloak was able to be made, it would not be allowed to be. Though it would be nice, she thought, to own a real invisibility cloak, it didn’t really matter too much. She had found that something else that would do instead, at least for now: the night. The night was her invisibility cloak.
Only in the darkness, in the dead of night, could she allow her hand to entwine with the hand of the one she wanted. The night allowed her to sleep with the warmth of another pressed against her, one that would be so far away by morning. In the darkness she whispered the things she could not during the day; things like ‘I am yours’ and ‘hold me closer’ and other awful things like that. In the solitude she sobbed unspeakable words into her pillow, things like ‘I love you’ and ‘do I mean anything at all to you?’ and ‘why am I not enough for you?’ and ‘I’m so sorry’. Under her blanket of darkness, her invisibility cloak, these things were safe and secret and secluded. No one would see, no one would hear, no one would know. It was important that no one could ever know.
When the daylight came she was recharged with inauthentic responses and fabricated emotions and that was alright; she was protected and unafraid. But, still, she wondered why. And in the dark she let it hurt.