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Sometimes I feel so two dimensional, so not 3D. I look at everyone else and see that they pop-out from the storybook cover, that they can speak with idle tongues. But I sit in the background behind that willow tree, keeping a silent book to my nose. I...forget that I'm that nobody boy. I'm not special or random like so many others. Cut me and nothing flows out, but she slits her wrist and a crimson sea gives way. So now I sit here in my dark corner hugging my knees. Paperthin. Jake said something once: If a man doesn't stand for something, he will fall for anything. Papercuts littered my skin after that. How can a piece of scrap like me stand against a hurricane. I don't fall, but I don't get hurt by debris. it slides right past me. Might rip me every now and again, but easily mended. I can fold myself origami to please those around, but they never see how I truly am. I'm not even a special cut-out. Just a blank page from an old man's diary. People like to litter me with their secrets and I don't mind. It's what I'm meant for after all. I wonder if the flower prints will visit me today...at least they're fun. Not zeroxed and hold unique designs of their own. Thicker too. Construction paper is more like it