Old friends

We don’t see Edward anymore. We do, but we don’t. We see him walking up or down the street and we put on our glasses, and we squint our eyes to make sure it’s him. We try to go after him or stay in one place, waiting for him to reach us, but he always turns a corner and disappears or suddenly enters a store and never comes out.  We know it’s him because every sight of him one of us gets has always been corroborated by someone else. Yet, none of us has been able to talk to him. We’d certainly like to explain to him what happened, make sure he understand that it was just a joke, that we’re very sorry. It was nothing, really. We came up to his room in the middle of the night, all wearing suits, holding candles and pretending to cry and be really sad. When he woke up he sat up on his bed and looked around in disbelieve. We moved around the room talking and comforting each other, and each one of us would come to his bedside and look at him in the eye and tell him how much he was going to be missed. The whole farce took about five minutes and then we all grabbed our candles and walk out of his room. Ever since, he goes around town like a living ghost. We see him, but we don’t.