One Reply to “1.17.2015 Journal Prompt”

  1. He’s always writing things down. He says it’s so he will remember or so he is be aware of what is going on. He says there’s so much in any one day that it is easy to miss things, to not notice something and maybe later that thing not noted could be important.

    He carries four or five notebooks with him and a clutch of pencils all with sharp points. We see him sometimes. He’s sitting on a bench in the park and his head bent over his writing. Or in a café on Bullmer street and his coffee growing cold and he’s scribbling some small observation into a notebook. Or on the bus going out of town and he’s writing even then.

    At first it was sort of cute. Me and Mandy took turns sitting beside him and passing the time of day.

    ‘Excuse me, is this seat taken?’

    And we’d sit so close we were almost touching, so close we could see the things he was writing down. There were comments on the weather, how it was colder today or how the sun was pale in the sky or how the air felt lightly damp. He wrote once that the coffee tasted of burnt chocolate and it stung his tongue. He wrote that a girl in a yellow coat sat down beside him and she sat a little closer than is usual. That girl was me.

    ‘What you writing?’ I asked him.

    He said it was nothing and everything. He said there was like a million moments in every day and he didn’t want to miss any one of them so he was writing things down, he was writing everything down.

    He wrote that the girl in the yellow coat was pretty and talking to her he felt funny inside, like something in him had turned to liquid quite suddenly.

    ‘Everything?’ I said.

    ‘Every small detail of every small moment.’

    He wrote that he could see the pink kitten-tip of my tongue when I said the word ‘everything’; it was the last syllable of the word and her tongue was gently caught between her teeth. He wrote that he wanted me to say something French, like ‘Bonjour’, so there’d be the shape of a kiss at the end of the word.

    ‘Even down to my inner thoughts,’ he said.

    I felt a little funny myself with what he was writing down.

    ‘You should ask me out sometime,’ I told him.

    He wrote that down, too. He recorded that he felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted a little and he was not sure what was up and what was down. He wrote that he wanted to ask me out, there and then, but he was not sure if the time was right. And then, that the time had been right and he’d missed it, for the moment had passed.

    Later, Mandy and I compared notes (not actual notes you understand) and he’d done the same with her. All the pretty observations and writing down his inner thoughts and thinking he might ask Mandy out if the moment was right, and that moment passed him by, too.

    We see him sometimes, bent over his notebooks, recording every little thing in every day, and always missing something. His name’s Luke, which is ironic really because he never really does look at what’s in his day, not really.

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