Everytime I didn't say, I love you, I lied III

"I think that maybe... maybe we're already dead."

I lay my pen down against the worn table and try to focus my eyes on the pile of papers that stack in front of me. I know I can focus on them, yet they appear so blurry; the hours in this library have tallied on too long and my eyes tell me to rest. Another story completed and added to the many. I place my head against the table with the mindset of not lifting it until a number of sheep appear and pass over me.

Excuse me, the girl of my dreams says, I saw you laying here asleep. I don't want to startle you, but as I saw you sleeping here I took the opportunity to see what you were working on.

A pretty girl read my stories today. You must be really sad inside, is all she could think to say.

Not anymore, I explain, for I have met you, girl of my dreams. Would you like to sit with me and discuss my stories?

Oh no, I can't. My brilliant and literate boyfriend is here for a book signing. It's his seventh published book, you know. He's a terrific writer and an even more terrific boyfriend.

I collect my things and start to leave the library. As I exit, I toss my papers into a waste bin and begin to cry.

By Calvin