I've been here for a while now without writing anything. I've tried to a couple times I guess, but it just wasn't working and so I kept giving up. Some people just aren't writers maybe.
I think I like coming here and reading stuff though - it's different than reading what's written in books because the authors here feel more like real people than book authors do. I guess partially because we can talk to each other.
Ow. I hope I can make it through the rest of this. It kinda terrifies me that people will be reading this, even though nobody knows it's me, I mean, who I really am.
I guess that's another reason I like it here, I'm not very good at talking to people face-to-face. I'd rather just watch and listen. Or play music. I can get up on stage and play guitar or whatever - I'm not shy like that - I just can't TALK to people. I dunno why.
So anyway I was in the library a while back and it's kind of a small library 'cause I live out where it's mostly farms and empty roads, and I hardly ever go there 'cause the big Library in the city has a lot more to offer. But I was in this little library because I rode my bike there, and it's all uphill on the way there but downhill on the way back with books, which is great because you can read a bit on the way home if you've got good balance.
Well there was a girl in the library and I'd seen her once before, walking along the roadside, and I just really like her face, I guess she reminds me of something. Even the first time I saw her I wanted to talk to her. So I took some books to a table near the computer she was working at and tried to think of something to say. I thought it didn't make a lot of sense that she was using a computer because it seemed like a girl like that couldn't really exist in the same plane as contemporary technology, but I guess the modern world eventually spreads just about everywhere. Except maybe my Grandpa's house, I don't think it found that yet. Maybe the modern world doesn't like the smell of goat manure.
Hell I dunno what's wrong with me. Here I'm writing about this girl I like and I end up talking about things like goat manure. Jeez.
I don't even know her real name. I know that she had two long braids and that there was a white line separating them, a white line of skin showing where her dark hair was pulled away and I stared at it and thought about how white it was compared to the brown of her arms that looked like summer tan fading. And even though I don't know her name I know that with her hair pulled tight into those braids the shape of her head reminds me of a baby bird, except with big ears. But nice big, like a deer. Big eyes and big ears that make everything else look so thin and quiet. I've picked up baby birds before, from the ground under nests, or even right out of nests when I was a kid, and put them back again (it's not true that the mother won't come back if you touch them), and the reason you can feel their hearts beating the way you can is because that's practically all there is. Everything else is so light and so hardly there.
How could I ever say these things to her though?
"Hello. I like your big ears. You look like a baby bird."
Man, have you ever seen a baby bird - you who are reading this? Most people would not take that as a compliment. They are scrawny and wet and gross. And she's not, she's beautiful. I mean, she's a normal beautiful girl whose veins don't bulge out through her skin and whose eyes have pretty eyelashes and not just translucent membranes to blink down over them.
Yeah. So you've probably guessed what she was writing on that computer and why this writeup has been given the title it's been given, and I bet you've probably gathered as well that I never did say anything to her and that the only reason I can write this here is because she never even glanced back at where I was sitting and I'm still safe in my anonymity. Maybe I feel guilty that she's no longer safe in hers, but maybe I'm just glad.
I guess I hope she reads this though. How could this be an accident? This is such a small town and it spreads out for miles and miles.