(found in the place where he left it)
What am I going to do with this? Who is going to read this? Why are you reading this?
You can stop. You can stop at any time. I can stop too, I think.
A dog’ll chase any old bone is what my grandma used to always say. A dog’ll chase any old bone.
But what’s that supposed mean?
What’s that got to do with me?
What am I chasing? Why am I chasing it?
What’s that got to do with you?
Are you running too? From what? Why?
It’s just that I feel that we’re always moving, we’re always going. There are all these things around us, and that’s all they are. They’re all just and simply things, objects in the world. Even people get stripped down in our minds until they’re nothing but an object. And we’re after them. We’re after all of them. And I don’t why. I don’t know if anyone does.
And everybody becomes the thing they are, but still they’re just a thing. And everybody, after becoming this thing, has a nice little spot, a nice little place on reserve. So everybody goes there, and they fit. But wherever I go, I don’t fit.
Is that my fault? Or can I blame somebody else?
I just wish. You all wish for something, but I just wish.
That doesn’t have to make sense. None of this does. Who said life would be coherent? Who said life would become a neat, little story with a neat, little narrative?
Oh? Was that me?
Then forget it. Just come and see me. Maybe you will understand.
Come and see me. Everything will be fine.
Just trust me.
I’m tired of chasing just any old bone. I still will, even if it means I’m still chasing, even if it means it’s just an old bone, but it won’t be just any old bone. It will be the bone I have chosen to chase.
Just trust me.