I hesitate to suggest he might be some sort of guardian angel. It’s a bit cliché to claim to have one. I hesitate to suggest he might just be an imaginary friend. Perhaps good thing that I don’t speak to him in words.
I do often wonder if he was my creation, though I somehow doubt it. I can’t really remember when he came along. Part of me knows he was always there, I just didn’t always know his name.
I’m not sure if I named him. He can’t have named himself, because he never speaks. Not with words, not with his lips. And yet, and yet he does speak. He speaks volumes.
Sometimes I wonder if it is his real name or if this is just the persona I’m able to understand him in. Perhaps he just is who he is and I shouldn’t question. Instinct tells me to accept who he is. This makes me smile, for who is he?