I have found the notes you hide. The first—not of your notes but of the ones I found—was stuffed in the window of a city bus. I saw it was a page from a larger work, numbered 27 and beginning in the middle of a conversation. I liked that message. Don’t we all meet in the middle of a conversation?
I know the work is at least 391 pages long. Judging by page 391 it is much, much longer. I know it has a preface, I have page xiv. I know it is divided into chapters, I can see their titles: Thunderstorm, Tokyo at Night, Broken Chair, and others that appear to be the names of characters. I do not have any consecutive pages. One name has come up twice, but so common it could mean two people. The writing is divergent, a different voice to every page, topics that leap from paragraph to paragraph: the ink of an octopus, a brother and sister racing cars, the stairwell of a downtown mall, the conversation a young woman overhears. I do not know if the pages are meant to be read consecutively or in the order that I am finding them.
Maybe I am imagining this, in fact I must be, in fact it fails more often than it succeeds, but tell me, do you work hints into each page, are they a treasure hunt? Page 72 described a pavilion in a park. I spent an afternoon searching parks and found page 219 in the second one I searched. But then, I was so sure Sunken Ship meant the naval memorial, and though I worked my fingernails into every crack of the thing, the warden thought I was crazy and there was nothing there.
No, I must be imagining it. I can’t be the only one finding these pages. I can’t be the only one they are meant for. I wonder how many people are gathering up these broken pieces of you. I wonder if we have more in common with each other than we do with you.
Probably your scariest one yet
:)
I would spend my life with you, given the chance.
Okay, Patrick, time for another Lovesick, seriously.
Again…Lovesick update?
Thank you. This has just perfected my morning.
Your words were like smoke; it made me sick but kept me warm (he tastes sweeter). But every touch belongs to someone else, and still you steal each breath I’m breathing from me (this is my breath in your lungs, not his). Listen to the shiver of wings at your side – it is my desire, and still, still, I am shaking with it. What have you(I) done to me(myself)?
But I can’t be me if I don’t care about you. I can’t choose a reality without you in it and it seems easy doesn’t it but there is really nothing that isn’t serious and doesn’t have the potential to mean the world. Please make it more than words.
It’s too much too close and it wasn’t supposed to be you but it will always seem like it is. – and if you can’t somewhere on this planet to rest, we’ve still got a whole sky to explore.
I hope I find this note when I need this.
I have to write this lest i again forget the anger for the betrayal, the harassment, the crime being committed by an insider supposedly trusted.
When this comes in handy, let it be noted that the person in charge of our home affairs is the one helping out the outsider in dividing the family and executing the electronic harassment.
I am sorry to the site owner for posting this message here. I have to post it somewhere I will remember and I can access because access to my accounts and my domains has been blocked when blocking me from the router, spoofing my pages and jamming my net connection didn’t work.
I posted it here to remind myself that after years of abuse and harassment, I really have to write about this now.