ink spot

Part 1

There is a blue spot visible in the corner of my eye. A satisfying shade. It dances around in my peripheral, slightly changing shape as it moves. If I look in a certain direction, it disappears altogether. At last, I think. Then, I focus my eyes straight ahead - it reappears. I sigh, and curse, under my breath. Like a fresh ink spot, over time it seems to grow and spread. Seeping further across my vision. No qualms with taking up room. This happens slowly. Some days, it doesn’t seem to change it all. It doesn’t bother me too much. But it becomes the first thing I look for each morning, the last thing I notice at night before I slip into slumber. Most of the time, I find myself zoning it out, getting used to it. But - often at the most inconvenient of moments - it seems to appear again as if for the first time. Makes itself known. Eventually, I can no longer ignore it. Her. She is a part of me, after all. Strangely, I’ve become somewhat comforted by her. Her consistent presence. In the quiet of my flat, I start to talk to her. My cat no longer the only one subjected to my ramblings - he merely looks at me, quizzically. Sometimes, I imagine how she might respond. Play the conversation out in my head, or even out loud. Speaking both parts. After not long at all, she’s taken control of my right eye. My vision mostly filtered through a cobalt haze. Hasn’t it always been that way? She’s my companion. I can block out the world around me, and focus on our connection. She understands me, in a way others don’t. People in my life say I’ve started acting differently… spending more time alone, at home, becoming isolated. Barely answering their messages, their concerned pleas to meet them soon for coffee. I suppose they’re right. I find myself indifferent to the thought of their company, now. I don’t need it as much. Not now that I have her.