dear mrj.,

are you up for a discussion?

does the pencil know how many pages you’ve written with it? do the pages remember the corrections you made?

does the chair you sit on sigh when you shift in ways only you know, trying to avoid people you don’t want to meet? does it ever warn you about your bad posture?

does the room play witness to your sideways glances that take in everything they can like there will be no tomorrow? does anyone wonder why your first instinct, upon discovering you have been noticed, is to pretend to be on your phone?

what scares you the most? whom do you want to pose no threat to? with whom do you share your joys, sorrows, and fears? around whom do you feel safe enough to come out of your shell? what is your shell made of?

people sometimes grow weary of correcting others’ mistakes. have you too? what's the price you've paid?

does the window know how long you stare out of it, wishing to be elsewhere? my bad for bringing this up — there are no windows.

do the floorboards remember the weight of your steps and how you drag them against it hoping it would recharge your confidence? does it?

does the table notice you flaunting your achievements to someone passing by? (why would you do that, silly?)

so much depends on you being who i think you are, and so much else on who you really are.

curiously yours,
observer_22