My desk was crowded and mounted with papers. I looked up paper addiction and found it was real. Every day I added to it and pushed parts here and pieces there. I carved out places for my forearms, I built upwards.
A push too many one day and a landslide of pages. Newspapers and cab receipts, grocery lists and doodles, bills for this and that and the other, magazines I didn't and will never read. And as I stopped to pick them up I saw your name, etched faintly and finely into this fake wood. Every addiction starts as something we teach ourselves.
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