Chapter 41: Heather’s Bookmark

I was putting a book on my shelf today when I knocked another book down. I found this folded piece of paper stuffed in the book, used as a book mark almost 2 years ago. This is the paper:

The pen rests in my hand, my finger twitching. I reach back to scratch my neck, closing my eyes as I rub my dirty hair. I want to write, I want to tell you what I think, I want to let my thoughts flow onto paper like paint, where that can coalesce into something I can begin to understand. Sometimes I tell myself I don’t want you, that you’re mean and treat me poorly. But one smile and I’m yours again. You don’t let me stay free for long, even though you don’t really seem to notice.

I never really cared about his bumbling of his relationship with his girlfriend, I just didn’t want the person so close to me to hold what I wanted so much. It’s puzzling that I would fend of others from that which I dare not touch. But then again this has never been my most successful game.

Daemon – So why haven’t you done anything, Samuel?
Me – I don’t know . . .
Daemon – Wrong! You know, tell me.
Me – Uh, because I’m a pansy?
Daemon – Wrong! Tell me.
Me – I’m shy!
Daemon – You are not shy and you know it. You can treat absolute strangers like they are your best friends!
Me – (stammering) Um, it’s cause I can’t find the best time to say something!
Daemon – Fool! You think about things your friends don’t dream of, you must know that such a time does not exist unless you create it!
Me – It’s cause I don’t want to lose her as a friend!
Daemon – Well, you aren’t exactly chums right now, are you? It would seem that all this talk of keeping her as a friend has made you so uncomfortable around her that you can’t do even that.
Me – (silence)
Daemon – So where do you stand, Samuel?
Me – I . . . I . . . stand nowhere but here . . . by myself . . .

As I look at this scribbled nonsense, I wonder what you would say if you read it. Would you know it was about you? Or would you say “Boy, this poor poor child has too much time on his hands. Sam, go program a loop and let someone else give this creativity thing a shot.” I doubt you’ll ever read this, as most of my ramblings end up where I somehow think this is headed, the trash.

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