I found your notebook.
It called to me through the deceiving folds of an undeserving backpack.
I released it from its prison. From the silent oppression which greedily bound it. My trembling fingers, dirty, sensitive, curious, reached through the dark and felt the beautiful binding of the depths of your mind.
My hands touched your mind.
I felt the pages, the energy-filled remnants of your active brain. Grasping, I pulled it from unappreciation. I brought it into the light.
A composition book.
Carefully, cautiously, I turned the cover.
Your message to me resonated. You wanted me to have this.
I read page after page of the raw, uncensored concepts of your subconcious. The beautiful, tender, delicate ideas of an uncertain mind.
And I loved that notebook.
I wanted to meet you, to have a conversation with you. I wanted to talk to you about your ideas, your thoughts.
I was going to give it back... I really was. I e-mailed you to let you know I had it.
I left my room inspired and excited. Like an archeologist, I had just dug up an ancient secret. The inner workings of your every thought. Your deep, abandoned, uncontained self.
I loved you.
But when I came back to my room, you had already come.
It was gone.
I had not even gotten to meet you.
My roommate said you had taken your notebook in embarassed frustration. I had shuffled through your things, disheveled your insecurities.
I had no right. I should never have read it. I read all of your vulnerabilities. Every weakness, every shameful illusion, every distorted fantasy, every tainted dream.
It was gone.
Such a fleeting pleasure.
I yearned for more.
Wonder withdrawl.
But then I met you today. You found me sitting by myself. Just as your notebook found me.
You were apathetic. Shifty, uncomfortable. You were uninterested in me and what I thought. I was simply that girl who read you. That one girl who opened the cover of your being and turned the pages of your mind.
And as you walked away from me, annoyed, perturbed, you so easily and nonchalantly walked away from that one, simple-minded girl who had hopelessly and foolishly fallen in love with your notebook.