You notice when it’s not me – when my absence is too much your eyes squint; you reach for a hat, or sunglasses, or use your own hand if I leave quickly. You notice when my absence is so complete; well, you would, if you even knew what that was like – so complete that your ancestors reached, groped even, for a lantern. But you? You don’t know the complete absence of me – the void that is filled entirely.
You notice if I look nicer than yesterday; but, you don’t notice if I don’t give you either a repeat of a spectacular performance, or a significant improvement on what I gave you yesterday.