You are bent over your notebook, writing, almost cautiously. You're letting your hair fall over your face, shielding yourself from the world. I want inside that bubble of detachment. I want to be the thing that makes you care. How can I do it? Please tell me. How can I get close to you?

I'm sitting here and I'm staring at you. Somehow fate put you directly across the room from me. All I have to do to see you is look straight up. It is wonderful.

You constantly seem to glance around yourself as you write. Like an antelope worried that a lion would swoop in an snag you as soon as you let your attention drift away for the shortest second. You're too alert to let the words flow from inside you. You write a sentence or too, then you're back to checking for lions.

Whereas me, I'm writing to achieve the same thing as your hair. I'm closing myself off. I don't want to be subjected to anything. I'm like a cat. If I can't see you, then you can't see me. Or.. no, not like a cat. Like a truck driver.

Like a truck driver who also happens to be a cat.

As soon as I start writing, I just keep going. If I never got tired and I never got distracted, it would be easy to write a novel's worth of words in one sitting. Not saying it would be good, or interesting... just that I would be able to just keep spewing stuff out. I'd be hemorrhaging words from my pen.

Whatever. Leave me alone.

Meow.