The Imaginary Man

You can’t lose something you never created.

She always thought she’d made him up.

At first, he was only a feeling, like a memory borrowed from someone else’s life.
Then came the details: a certain laugh, the scent of pine and old books.
He never startled her when he appeared.
He was already part of the room.
She never looked directly at him.

He lived in the space just over her shoulder, just before sleep,
the man who listened when no one else did,
who knew things about her she didn’t remember saying.

He arrived when she needed him.

Always.

Without fail.

Until one day - he didn’t.

At first she barely noticed.
Only that the air felt colder,
her thoughts a little less tethered.

She tried to summon him the way she always had.
Nothing.
No warmth, no pine, no comfort.

And that’s when she realized; he hadn’t been imaginary.
He’d just been quiet.
And now he was gone.
Not with a crash.
Not a goodbye.

Just into the shadows,
where all good secrets live.