“Please don’t ask me who I am. If you do not know already, you will never understand… The story is a tragic one, and far too long- not good table conversation.
Do not ask me what I meant by this and that word, or a poem I wrote years ago… It doesn’t matter, and is likely none of your business.
You can either be my friend and accept that there are pathways only I will tread, or you can be a nosy bastard and seek to pick me apart untill all of me is bare… Map every concave and convex of soul, putting little name tags on the interesting bits… Plant a flag on the highest hill and draw the words ‘____ was here’ on the surface of my heart.
I was searching for a hand, in need of simple laughter and the joy of belonging somewhere. Apparently your world is too small to accommodate others… That was not meant as insult, I admire the kingdom you preside over and gasp at the beauty you so blithely wield.
The page is my constant companion and stares back at me with the same blank stare as the one you turn my way… What a shame that all the glory of accumulated moments are discarded so easily when they have ceased to amuse you.
I can be a rock however, that silent presence that no longer seeks to bask in your sunlight but merely reflects you, like a shadow. When the world falls around you and not one person cares enough to lend an ear, I hope you will remember where I live… I do not so easily forget and my shoulder is always available.
Despite it all there is nothing you could do that would eclipse what you have already given, even if you do not know it.”