I always felt most invisible in my fathers study. It was a large room; the bay window - south facing -spanned its width, accompanied by deep window seat .
Its sun soaked velvet cushioning was my haunt during the summer months,lying behind my farther as he sat at his godfather style desk - though his chair was a matching mahogany, lined with green leather, punctuated by perfectly squared brass studs.
*** During the winter i would sit on the furry rug, propped up against the bookshelf, alternating between taking random books off the shelf ( though always remembering their place ) and wondering what animal that fur had been taken from -often inventing my own, and creating their whole world: not just what they looked like, but where they were from; what they ate; where they slept and what hunted them. The last one nearly always being humans. I only ever pretended to read the books, just in case my farther decided to look at me, though he never did his gaze would only seem to reach a metre before me, in a split second of abstract thought. He was a busy man, and i revered him for it.
Invisible is the wrong word. My farther never ignored me,not on the inside: if i had been selfish enough to bother him, heâ€™d have played along. our silence was like a game. It was acceptance he showed to me - a kind of love that seem to hard to find in the world that has conditioned us to never give something up for nothing.But when you do have it... well, is there anything more honest that a comfortable silence ? ***
Its a subjective term Its a positive thing It sort of makes you feel safe and strong, Yâ€™know - like some ones wrapped around you.
HONG MAN WONG 15.09.61
Lost and Found