In Tongues

by Thomas Grattan

I wished for a camera, then changed my mind, as it would miss exactly what was alive between the three of us then, showing instead our blemished skin and half-closed eyes, the woozy look on my face when I’m happy.

and I wished I’d been able to explain that to be invisible didn’t mean to disappear, but to have control over who might see me, and when and how.