I had this feeling. I had this strange sort of almost indescribable feeling, and so, of course, I had to try and write it down. That’s generally how my mind best works when it comes to trying to determine what it is exactly that’s going through my head. For some odd reason, the simple act of taking up a pen or putting fingers to keys makes the organization of thoughts much clearer, more readily accessible to the conscious part of my mind that helps me determine what it is that I’m feeling. The words are in my mind, but until seeing them in concrete form on paper or screen, they’re not in my mouth. Now, they are on paper (and screen), and while I still have the sort of strange feeling that made me respond to Ian’s query as to how I felt with “Like paper,” it is less incomprehensible and more intriguing than disturbing.

In my zeal for getting this strange new idea out of my head and into something workable that may be useful in future literature or poetry, I decided to include the short conversation, whose words have all but faded from my memory–only their flavor leaving a residual odor in my mouth, in a scene in the romance novel I’ve been sporadically working on. It’s a strange idea, and an odd scene, which, to be fair, may never see the final draft of the book, but it’s what I felt, more or less. And now that I’ve sufficiently gone comma-crazy, I’m going to leave you with the excerpt I scratched out with a blue ballpoint in my little beige journal. Enjoy it or don’t; I just had to get the words out to clear my mind. Too bad it’s hard to wake from such a dream without a few ghosts still whispering…

      “Something wrong?” Something in the way Nick’s gaze went out of focus as though looking straight through Tony’s head bothered and worried the blond. Part of him was annoyed to be so blatantly ignored, and the other part was concerned by the unknown expression on his lover’s face.

      Finally, Nick came back into focus enough to recall that the younger man was sprawled on the couch with him, half draped across his lap, actually. The older man didn’t look down at the blond in his lap and instead averted his grey eyes to the far wall, staring intently into the darkened hallway.

      “Are you feeling all right?” Tony pressed, his frustrated side being overwhelmed with the anxiety he felt at not knowing what was going on in his boyfriend’s head.

      After another few tense seconds, Nick spoke, his voice faint and quiet, almost a whisper as he said, “I feel . . . like . . . paper.”

      Tony sat up and was even with the brunet, his brown eyes wide and startled at the strange response. Unsure what to make of it, he could only ask for clarification.

      “Paper? What do you mean?”

      With every word from Tony’s mouth, Nick found himself being brought further and further into this world and away from the one of his thoughts. With a look on his face that was half-sad-frown and half-bemused-grin, he shook his head as if to clear some of the jumbled thoughts away.

      “I-I just mean,” he began, trying to gather enough information from his now-fleeting thoughts to form a coherent explanation, “that . . . well . . .” He paused, sighing lightly before biting his lower lip as he considered his next words carefully. “You know how it feels when you’ve been reading some novel all day long and you have to stop and get back to the real world again? That sort of half-dream where you’re not totally in the world of fiction but not totally here either?” He didn’t wait for Tony to respond; he knew that the younger man knew exactly what sensation he was describing. They were both, after all, avid readers. Hadn’t they initially met at the library? Besides that, Tony was the manager of the local bookstore. They both shared the same love affair with books.

      Nick continued, his voice still light and almost far away, rather like the peaceful murmur of a sleeptalker. “I feel like a piece of paper getting used as a bookmark. Most of me is still in that imaginary fiction world of the mind, but enough of me is still out in the real world to know that what’s in my head is just fantasy—not real.”

      He paused once more, his eyes falling to the lap that Tony had just vacated. The blond appeared confused, one thick eyebrow raised at the strange expression on the brunet’s face, but he held his tongue. Nick didn’t often speak for this long on a subject that wasn’t the high school where he taught or sports, and Tony was going to be damned if he didn’t let the larger man have his say now.

      Nick sighed, his musings nearly spent as he wound down with a wistful light in his eyes. “I guess I-I just feel like I’m living in two places, close to being torn in two, and I don’t know which half of me will make it.”

      Tony was stunned by Nick’s words, feeling a deeper meaning to them though being unable to put his finger on it. Rather than try to say anything that may or may not be seen as welcome, he instead leaned forward, pressing his lips to Nick’s in a sweet, lingering kiss. Nick kissed him back, obviously still distracted by his pendulous thoughts since he didn’t return as much pressure to Tony’s lips as the blond man was pressing upon his. Pulling back far enough so that he could see all of Nick’s broad, tanned face, he breathed out softly, afraid to break the spell that had been cast over the dim living room.

      Tony still couldn’t read the expression on Nick’s face, and was unsure as to how to best respond. He didn’t want to be too serious and force Nick further into the mood he was in—the brunet was clearly feeling somewhat down—but neither did he want to make light of the situation and hurt the older man’s feelings since he had just bared a part of his soul to him.

      In the end, he merely lay back down across Nick’s lap, wrapping his arms around him a little more tightly as he nuzzled against Nick’s firm stomach a little more closely. The brunet’s heavy words now weighed upon them both, the pair now torn between worlds, each wondering how much longer it could last.