Between Pages

We are here. Waiting. And waiting still.

Sometimes, we show ourselves to you at daybreak, but you rarely notice. You think you know us, enough to completely ignore us. We know our gaseous bodies are not sufficient to summon your interest. We cannot affect your life, even though you control ours. But you do not see that now, do you? You do not see that we are dreams left unfulfilled. You do not see that we have been created but left unrealized. You are like the rest of them; your eyes perceive only the superficial. You think we are nothing more than water hanging in the chilly air.

We cannot fully blame you. We are unknown to you humans because we inhabit a realm of darkness. Our world is quite similar, yet at the same time, quite opposite yours. Despite this, our worlds are quite accessible to each other. Thus, you have been conquering our domain; at least, that is what we think. You are a threat to us, yet we cannot do anything much about it. But you cannot feel that could you? How could you know our presence when you barely notice us?

It is not our wish to remain hiding in the dark forever; we also wish to see the light. However, we do not have much of a choice. Exposure to any light brighter than the full moon kills us. We must hide from the daylight, otherwise we die. At morning, you can find us trembling between the pages of books, under heavy boxes and inside sewer lines. At night we fly free and content ourselves by looking at the stars. Sometimes, when we are lucky, we see the moon. This we do until dawn breaks again.

This cycle we have faithfully kept for millennia. Those who violate it die a slow and painful death. They can feel their bodies slowly evaporating into nothingness. Yet, somehow, I envy them. They have seen the sun, even though it cost them their lives.

At first it was just the sun, but now a new threat had risen to harass us even more. This thing you call technology may be helping you a lot. Yet in the wrong hands, it can eliminate the rest of my brethren. Your halogen street lamps are a hundredfold more searing than the light of the full moon. Your cities have become too warm for us to fly through. The winds you blow during the day are now laden with particles that course through our innards and cause our demise.

I never really wanted to die, but if I did, I wanted it to be by daylight. Not like this.

We are powerless. Our voices are too feeble for your ears. Sometimes, though, one of you would hear us and welcome us in their arms. Sometimes, a child sees us and smiles. Sometimes, we become real. Only you humans can make us real enough for us to stand the sunlight. Thus we are given a choice. We can stay here, waiting for death to come by and say hello. Or we can stay here and wait for one of you to bring us to life. Can you help us?

Now that you know who we are, it does not have to take much effort to listen. You can start by parting the curtains. Or by reminding yourself, every time you see us, that we are more than just the morning mist.