The unicorn

On the lawn of Safflower House, a unicorn lay sleeping. You could see how it rested on the tips of the grass, barely bending them. It must have weighed little more than a sigh. I wanted nothing more than to go out to it, rest a hand on its nose, feed it from my hand, whisper rhymes into its ear. But nobody else seemed to be paying it much mind. They were busy with talk of places I hadn't been and people I didn't know. I watched it through the window, always looking past it like I hadn't noticed it was there. That's how I remember it: a blur, an uncertainty. When we came back from dinner, it was gone.