When I decided to make peace with your fantasy, I did not know the walls were so very thin. Because I cannot begin to imagine what it feels like to be you, I will keep the promise I made to leave things undisturbed. But as I back out of the sticky pink boundary of your bubble, I can’t help but wonder if you’ll miss my company. What will become of you if your bubble should burst drives me to my knees in prayer because I have no idea if you’ll be any less shattered than the chewed and discarded gum remains that could dot the sidewalk. No matter what, I’ll be sure to step around you and do what I can to piece it together.
I don’t think you knew how to reach anyone, at least when it came to me. The snow is flying and winds are howling, reluctantly I start to remember. It would not have done any good to write a script, the parts were not well acted. Anytime I told you to sit in my chair and take a look from my view; if you had complied, you might have won me over. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so fickle, but I could say the same about you. Your last attempt will live on in its own way, the paper hearts are streaming in the wind. My only wish is that I could finally decide what to think of your picture. It was something about what was in your hand, it might have been the truth.