Listen, Paper

Sometimes you just need to type. Sometimes you just need to write, and the paper just needs to listen. So listen up paper. You’ve got some responsibility right now. I have no inclination to share with anyone else but you. Feel special. Feel empowered. Feel nothing, for you are a piece of paper.

Or just sit there, which is also fine. You know, I never talk to anyone. Just ask their stories, listen closely to their plights. When they ask “How are you?” I smile good naturedly and decline to say, really how I am. Because I know, and they know, that they don’t care. That they just want to keep going with their story, but social rules must be kept. The question must be posed. And then they rush ever onward. And I listen.

So listen. Are you listening paper? I mean you don’t have to. I bet you have a tough day, huh paper? A tough life. First you are a tree beautiful and full. Your leaves a glorious blaze of color I am sure. And then you are cut apart. Mashed into a pulp, your proud colors diluted and dyed a brilliant white. And then you a typed upon by the very humans that ended your life, beseeching you to listen to their stories. Listen to their issues. Listen, though you are dead and they are to blame.

That’s all right paper. Let it out. I am here. I’ll listen. I am good at that. I listen pretty well you’ll see. And maybe, after a while, you’ll feel well enough to ask how I am. And I will smile good naturedly, and decline to answer, really, how I am.