We weren’t always like this. In fact, there was a time when I didn’t know her at all. I suppose everyone we know now was a stranger at one point, even our family. Some of our family remain strangers even after we think we know them. I’m getting sidetracked. I was thinking of something today when she came down to see me. She sat on the edge of my bed and said, “We’re lonely together.” I stared back, eyes squinted in the sudden light. I wasn’t used to that; she normally didn’t bring any light at all. “We’re lonely together,” she said again, and I nodded, not knowing why.

“You are down here and I am up there and you have nothing and I have a lot, but I’m still lonely. You are, too. I know you are. I’ve made sure of that.”

I nodded again, hard for me to think of anything else to say in the sudden glare, the sudden talk. She usually didn’t stay this long. I looked at her and saw her eyes were wet; I used to console her when she cried in my arms. Now, I feared to touch her.

Lonely together, maybe. We always had been.