The owl on the windowsill

"So there's an owl. On my windowsill. Outside the glass, just perched there, this big gray-brown thing with those eyes. And it's nighttime, and I'm standing at the window in my pajamas, and I'm looking at it and it's looking at me. And I'm not scared. Not at all. Just. Looking. And I wanted to show somebody. That was the thing. I wanted to show somebody this owl. So I went to get my roommate and I'm pulling on her arm like "come here, come here" and she's half asleep and she comes to the window and looks and says "I don't see anything" and goes back to bed. And I look back and the owl's still there. Still perched. Still looking at me. So I didn't understand why she couldn't see it. I tried calling my mom. Phone wouldn't work. I tried taking a picture. Camera wouldn't focus. Just blur. Just a gray smear. And the owl was right there the whole time, clear as anything, and nobody could see it but me. And I remember thinking "okay, so this is mine then." Not sad about it. Just. Mine. Just for me. I opened the window eventually. All the way. And it didn't fly off. And I put my hand out. And it just. Stepped onto my hand. Like it had been waiting for the invitation. And it was lighter than I expected. Almost nothing. And it sat on my hand and looked at me and I looked at it and we stayed like that for a long time. And I could feel its little talons, gentle, not digging in, and I could feel its heartbeat through my palm. Fast. Little fast heartbeat. And I thought "you're real. You're actually real." I woke up and my hand was open. Just open on the pillow. Like it was still holding something. And I lay there for a while and I could almost feel it. Almost. And I got up and looked out the window. Nothing. Just the street. Just the morning. But I felt good. I felt really good. All day. Didn't tell anybody about it. Some things you keep. That one I kept."