A One Sided Conversation

I remember the first time I heard Bob Dylan. I thought he sounded strange. Sort of like a dying duck that had been smoking Marlboro Reds for years and years. I soon learned, however, that he was a clever duck and quickly became quite jealous of his ability to put strands of incredible lyrics together. He was like an architect, building phrases out of words that came across as poetry and melody combined. I like to call him Bobby, as if I know him.

Jealousy. Funny thing Jealousy is. It can come out of nowhere. I could be walking down the street and be perfectly fine until I see that good looking guy with his good looking girlfriend, taking calls and checking emails and sending flowers from the palm of his hand. If only I had that phone. I want that phone. How come he gets to have that phone? Will the phone work the same for me? I wonder if I can get it for cheaper than it is supposed to be. I'd probably be famous if I could just get one of those stupid little phones.... The list of thoughts goes on I guess. Anyways, thats a side note.

Notes. I have a box of notes in my closet. Notes from when I was a kid, all the way up to the present. If you've given me a note, chances are that it is in that box. Just looking at the box makes me feel funny inside. There are long notes, short notes, happy notes, angry notes, plain notes, colorful notes, funny notes, serious notes. Some of the notes are torn from age and some are just a little dusty. I like to think that when I am older, I will read all of the notes before I die and remember the things I just couldn't remember otherwise. By then, hopefully even the notes that remind me of things I may not want to remember now, will be so old and far from the present, that they bring a smile, maybe even a laugh, to my face. Maybe by then I'll have a couple of boxes to go through (hopefully all good notes). 

Good evening.