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listen to me

grab yourself a notebook and tear a page out of it. no need to tear it cleanly, it doesn’t really matter anyway. no one cares. not one single bit. especially not her. now sit down at your desk and grab a pen. try it first, see if it has any ink. it doesn’t? grab another pen. what, you can’t find one? look harder. why don’t you check that bag you always bring to college? surely there’s a pen there. oh, and make sure you weigh down that scrap of paper with something, we don’t want it flying away now, do we? your wallet would be fine, yes. i’ll wait.

there’s a pen in your bag, isn’t there? thought so. sit back down at your desk and try that pen, see if it’s got any ink. if it doesn’t, then you’re one unlucky person. but there is, so it’s all okay. peachy. fine. great. hunky dory. now write. take the pen, put it in your writing hand, and write. go on, go on. write.

come on, you can do it. you know how you feel, right? and you’re sick of those feelings building up inside of you, right? you want her to know, right? hell, you need her to know, right? (i really don’t see the point, but if this is what you want, who am i to stop you?) you really haven’t got much choice, you know. tell her or live with not telling her, continue living with those feelings you so often talk to me about. no, no, i’m not sick of listening to you, i’m not bored of you. far from it. i’m happy to listen and i really am happy to help. after all, i’m helping you right now, aren’t i?

you don’t need to write much. just write what you’ve been meaning to write. what you feel like you need to write, what you feel that she needs to know. that’s all. straight to the point. write what you need to write and no more. don’t bog it down with useless anecdotes, irrelevent tales and boring reminiscence. she wouldn’t want any of that. not at all.

done? good. you’ve done the hard part. the rest, after this, is all going to be a breeze. nothing to it. nothing at all. i’ll meet you at your place in fifteen minutes. go shower or something, it’ll do you good.

i love the city when it’s raining. it sort of gives the city a certain sense of beauty that it’s sorely lacking most of the time. hey, you still with me? hello? oh, okay. i thought you’d drifted off somewhere else there. you had that look in your eyes. just relax, okay? this is nothing. nothing at all. WHAT THE FUCK ARE— stupid driver! that idiot nearly killed us! did you see that? did you fucking see that? god, i hate this city when it’s raining.

this city is full of idiots. idiots who can’t drive, idiots who can’t talk, idiots who can’t read, idiots who have to ask for help in doing even the simplest of things, idiots who . . . uh, shit. no offence, yeah? sorry. shouldn’t have said that, even if i wasn’t specifically talking about you. sorry.

we’re here. get out, do what you have to do. it’s all on that piece of paper, remember? don’t let it get wet, and make sure she gets it. the cemetery’s just past the statue, take a left.


(inspired by this.)

Categories: prose and poetry
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