They both sat together on the swinging bench, their shoulders hunched and eyes down. The only sign of another person nearby was the slight motion. One they each found comforting.

The invisible man never existed. No matter how hard he tried, no one would notice him. That was until one day he sat on the old bench in exasperation. To his suprise a voice appeared from beside him, as if cutting through the fog.

“A rough day?” The man asked. The invisible man peered over. The man beside him had clouded eyes and seemed to be staring off in the distance, yet he managed to place his eyes on the invisible man in some other way, a way that he never felt before.

“Something like that.” The invisible man said. Despite all the previous shananigans that followed the question, he couldn’t help but ask, “Can you see me?”

The blind man laughed, “Can’t you see the fog in my eyes? It blinds me from the shapes and colors.”

The invisible man nodded his head in agreement. “I have a fog around my body, so people can’t see me.”

The blind man kept his gaze focused to the sun. “We aren’t that much different, are we? I can’t see the world and the world can’t see you. Funny how fog works.”

The blind man had never met anyone who could relate so similarly to his issue and fill some sort of comforting feeling in his heart. It wasn’t necessarily a feeling of relief that he wasn’t missing out on all the sights in the world, it was a feeling a happiness that maybe the fog not only targeted him, but others. The fog caged others like it did him.

From that day forward the two would always sit on the wooden swing, seeing each other from the motion of the chair. They sat, mostly in silence but every now and then discussing things that made them feel at home.

The blind man on right right.

The invisible man on the left.

They both sat, united.