i don't know what it is honestly, but that book always spoke to me. it screamed for my attention from the moment i stumbled across its path. i don't really remember how, or why for that matter. but it was powerful, that feeling i surely remember. it was an anchor, lodged deep within my heart and i accepted it graciously.
when i first read through the pages, i thought wow, how strange, how incredibly familiar his voice seems. how do i know him? how can it feel like i've heard him speak time and time again?
the second time, i marked the pages, dark and deep, knowing that the voice i heard was no longer his, but mine. i knew him so well because i was him. he was me. and we understood each other, even if he was fictitious.
i grew on to live the way i had imagined he would have liked. i drew and wrote letters. i said nothing while saying everything. and most of all, i kept quiet...
for i had always been a wallflower
with every fiber of my being.
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