I didn’t think I would ever understand it, the way he used to linger in my life. He was a traveler, having been and seen many parts of the Earth; but for some odd reason, he took a liking to me. I mean, why else would he have spent the majority of his time in my presence? Very rarely would he overstay his welcome. Then again, he liked to claim he was never welcome in the first place. No matter what, his visits were always short-lived as he would disappear almost as soon as he arrived. Now, I wonder why he ever visited me in the first place.

The first time we met, I was only eight years old. Despite being 37 now, I still had a clear memory of that day. Of course, there was the off chance that he had visited me before that point, but being so young, I would have never noticed. He was also very skilled at hiding in the background; so how I managed to discover his existence, I’d never be able to say. I’m sure he might have a reason, but it wouldn’t diminish the way we had come to know each other.

When I first met him, he stood in the corner of my room, a tall silhouette with comforting gray dots for eyes and long, lanky arms that hung loosely at his sides. Anyone who might have seen him would have thought he was a monster who had chosen to haunt me, but in my years of knowing him, I had never been afraid.

As soon as I locked eyes with him, he smiled at me. Or so I had thought at the time, watching as a faint curved line appeared where I assumed his mouth would have been. Tears
were rolling down my cheeks as I searched helplessly for my favorite toy. The little rabbit had gotten lost in the depths of my toy pile, and my brain was yet to develop rational thinking.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured with a voice that was deep and soothing to my ears. “Crying makes me stronger. This is only my first visit, you know.”

“Is it your last?” I asked, avoiding his gaze as I sat cross-legged on the floor and used my sleeve as a tissue for my runny nose. His eyes seemed to shine at my words.

“No, I don’t think it will be.”

My face twisted with confusion as the faint line of his smile grew wider and more opaque. 

“Can I at least know your name?”

“Maybe next time, little dove.”

Our conversation was then cut off as my parents rushed into my room, trying to soothe tears that had already subsided. I watched as he waved goodbye and faded into the light, his presence no longer darkening the corner of my room.

The next time he visited, it was far too soon. I was only 10 this time and still resided in the same room. My legs swung as I sat on the edge of my bed, tears falling on my lap as I thought about the people I labeled as my friends. I had yet to learn that true friends wouldn’t talk about me behind my back and was upset about it all.

“Hello again,” he called from the same corner in my room. I glanced at him, my red and puffy eyes meeting his own. I frowned at the smile he wore and drew my knees to my chest.

“You’re crying, little dove,” the shadow pointed out, and I waved him away with my hand, turning my body in the opposite direction.

“Go away,” I muttered under my breath, but he didn’t listen. Instead, his eyes shined and his smile turned into a grin.

“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that for a long time, little dove,” he answered, “Besides, didn’t you want to know who I am?”

Despite his reminder, it still took a lot of effort for me to get a clear answer. Once he relented, I learned that his name was Despair, or at least, that was the name he was most often called. He added that he chose the name for himself after someone had suggested it, and it was one that he quite liked. After that, he brushed away the topic and said a quick goodbye, as my mother came into the room with two mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies to ease the ache in my chest.

While I didn’t like to admit it, Despair had a knack for being right. As time went on, he never faded, his visits soon becoming more and more frequent until he appeared almost every day at any chance he had. Whether it was an inconvenience or a life-changing event, he was there.

“Why are you always here?!” I shouted at him one afternoon while sitting on the couch after a particularly long and upsetting workday. I was 18 and living on my own, a new kitten cradled in my lap to keep me company.

“I’m here because it is not my time to leave, little dove,” he said in his same deep voice. Somehow, it hadn’t changed.

“Well, it’s not like I ever asked you to show up!”

His gray dots for eyes shined again, then he grinned. Only, this was the first time I had seen it so bright and clear.

“I eventually visit everyone, little dove,” Despair replied. “For now, I am visiting you, and I will continue to visit because you need the company. You are the reason I am here, and you are the reason I stay. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Silence filled the room as I gathered my courage to speak. “So when will you leave?”

“I will only leave when you no longer have need of me, little dove,” Despair said with a laugh. His eyes shined again before he continued to talk. “I’m afraid that won’t be for a long time.”

Yet again, he was right, and eventually, he had become my best friend. It was a strange thing to say, but he had. Years passed since we had that encounter, but Despair didn’t leave. I grew attached to him, thinking that he never would, but he did. I was 29 years old when he announced his departure. Despair sat next to me on the couch, a cold yet comforting hand on my shoulder as my cat sat in my lap, my arms around him. My kitten had since grown into an adult since I first adopted him, as all animals do, and he kept me company over the years. It was only fair that I did the same as he started to pass away.

“I have a friend that will guide him to his next adventure, little dove.” The words had my tears spilling over the edge of my eyes, but Despair continued. “He will be well taken care of.”

“And me?” I asked hopelessly. “Who will be there to take care of me now that he’s gone?”

For once, Despair didn’t know how to respond, watching as I smoothed down my cat’s fur. With my permission, he scooped the feline into his arms from my lap before standing up.

“That’s why I’m here,” he eventually said, cradling my cat in a gentle hold, “But when you have let go of this moment, I will have to take my leave.”

“What?” I blurted, the shock evident on my face. The smile he gave this time was the most gentle I had ever seen it, and my words were dying in my throat.

“I’m afraid I overstayed my welcome with you, but never fear little dove. I won’t disappear for good just yet, and I plan to visit sometime again.”

With a grin and another shine of his eyes, I watched as he faded into the light again, my companion fading with him. When Despair returned, I had already begun the process of moving forward, just like he had told me to. He lingered in my life as he always did, but he stopped being as involved as he once was. Soon, he had left without me realizing it. What used to be days of banter was now nothing but silence. The corners of my room were no longer dark with his presence. He disappeared one day, and I hadn’t seen him since.

Some days, I’m left to wonder if he ever really existed. Occasionally though, within the silence, I can hear his voice — almost in a whisper — letting me know he’s still out there. Despair still visits those who let him in, forever confined to the corners of people’s rooms or the backgrounds of their lives. He’ll visit me again one day, just as he promised me; but when he does, I’ll greet him like the old friend that he is to me.