I’m the guy that’s sitting in the corner. The one that you always see sitting there, when you pick up your triple-shot latte and turn around. You always take a sip and look over at my corner. Even if I’m not looking back, you smile from behind the styrofoam cup. I know all this, but I don’t even know your name. I wonder what your story is and, perhaps, you wonder the same about me. You’ll always find me sitting there, even on the days when you don’t show up. It’s usually raining on those days. I see the shadow of the rain projected onto the parchment of my notebook. I color in each shadow because I have nothing to write. You wonder what it is that I do, sitting in that corner everyday as my pen weaves its way along the paper. You wonder what my story is. You’re intrigued. I write all that down in my tattered notebook. You check that your coffee is just right, then you head for the door. You never stay. I never walk over to stop you, or to step outside with you. I was never that person. One day, I won’t be there when you turn around. I’ll leave my notebook there, alone on the table. And in it, you might find the part where you walk over. You’ll read it and think that it’s the end. But, I’m watching you, writing everything down on a napkin. Then, I’ll walk over and ask you what you think. You’ll look at me, and ask “what took you so long?” And I’ll simply say, as I slide the napkin behind the first page, “some stories never end.”
Can I keep this in a corner of my own notebooks shelf?