MindReader and I are lying on our backs outside under the stars. Well, I am sort of on his shoulder, because the ground is cold.
“I’m sorry I’m so – urgh – needy,” I say, idly watching a blinking star peeking out from behind my house.
“It’s fine,” he says, relaxed as ever. “It’s more than understandable in your situation.”
“I know,” I say with a wave of my hand; I have heard more than enough about my situation. “It’s just rubbish, my mood just sinks when you leave, and picks up again when you’re back,” I say, with the creeping realisation that, sickness aside, this might be called being in love.
“I don’t really know what to do,” I say, propping myself up on my elbows to look at his eyes, which look almost navy blue.
“Well,” he says softly, “do that typing for Ex Boss, earn some money and a sense of – purpose. Do things you love. And keep getting better.”
I lean back on him and watch the stars.
Do you feel that his comment was rather ambiguous? I am not sure what to make of it. But then you do know him better than I.
I do believe that doing things besides earning money, give one a sense of purpose.
Keep writing your book. I promise to buy a copy when (not if) it is published.
I think it was ambiguous, or maybe not.
MR
MR? Anonymous with initials? Just like a lawyer.
[...] and mentally work out how many hours until MindReader’s return. I haven’t heard a thing, which is oddly familiar. Indeed he went away for about this long – with no mobile reception [...]