Constructed Reality

“Morning, honey,” Leslie says as I enter the kitchen, “I already made coffee.”

“Thanks,” I say pouring myself a cup, “Why are you always so good to me?”

“Maybe because I am a construct of your mind,” Leslie vanishes at the realization of her self-negating statement.

I stare into the space she was occupying only a few moments ago and sigh. This has been happening to me a little too often lately. I lift my mug to my mouth and realize something is missing. “Come on! The coffee was a construct, too?” I say to no one. “That’s crossing the line!”