The Crumpled Paper

This is an attempt to rewrite something I wrote 13 years ago. I don't have the paper in front of me and I have no idea if I still have it somewhere or not but I remember vividly what I was doing when it came to me in my head. I was driving back from CO after getting into an argument w/a friend who I liked and she felt the same way but she was scared of "it". She would come to my bed only when she was drunk and I would simply cover her up and let her sleep it off. Nothing ever happened between us. I was also feeling overwhelmed with a relationship of 5 years that was coming to a finale - we had broken up 6 months before but we were really starting to cut the ties and move on. This poem is actually about her and what she did for me and how I felt after it was over. This woman was wonderful to me and I wish I hadn't treated her like I did. I can't go back and change that - so this you might say is an "ode" to her. I wish her only the best.

The Crumpled Paper

She was cleaning up her new room and saw a crumpled paper in the corner. She picked it up and was about to throw it away. She saw some writing on it and being the curious person she was decided to see what was inside. From first glance she noticed something was different about it. She attempted to uncrumple it but to no avail. The paper was balled up so tight and it was heavy. She realized it wasn't just a piece of paper - it was more like a lifetime of writings. The paper appeared to have a life of it's own. It eminated anger, hate, deceit, distrust, betrayal, innocence lost, tears of sorrow.

She was able to decipher a few words even though it was crumpled. Angry words, hurtful words, hateful words, vulgar in almost every aspect. Who could have written such awful things - the burden must be heavy - was there anything positive written on it? There must be something good. She was drawn to her like a moth to the light - no escaping! Fascinating, intriguing, dangerous! She put it on her nightstand, she had work to do, she would try to open it tonight.

Days went by and turned into weeks, she was able to get a little corner starting to open but she didn't want to tear it. It was vital that not a word be torn or she may not understand what it said. This was delicate work, patience, she had a lot of patience, this was something she could do. Open up this paper without tearing it. Analyze it, understand it, figure out what went wrong and then she decided when she finished that it was her job to fix it and make it better.

Over the course of several months the paper begin to open up. Sometimes she would return to it and it seemed to be balled up more than she had left it but more often than not she seemed to be making progress. Pulling her in like a fly in a spider's web and she couldn't free herself. The discoveries fascinated her and she delved deeper, progress was slow but she felt it was worth the effort.

Several times the paper took on a life of it's own. Often violent - and usually after she had read something horribly disturbing, demented, unbelievably cruel. Many times she found herself in tears after reading it and had to put it down because it was taking her into a downward spiral of despair. A few occasions she even threw it in the trash trying to save herself. Could she handle the violence, hate, the anger, the abuse?

How long would it take to open up completely? Why couldn't she just throw it away? What was so intriguing? How did she become so attached and enraptured by this crumpled up ball of paper? Spewing forth hate and anger, destruction all around it! But every so often, when she went slow, took her time in deciphering it - the paper begin to write new words - trying to explain, trying to get to a better state - less wrinkles, easier to read, calmer, peaceful at times.

Together she and the paper seemed to start writing a new story, a positive story, happier - and at the same time started erasing the bad things from it. But the paper had things so deeply engrained - like and invisible ink pen - the words might not be there but the memories were, they would never totally go away. Often times it would bite her out of pity, self-hate, knowing it didn't deserve anything good! Many times it would roll off the nightstand right into the trash - where it belonged but she was faithful and always retrieved it, determined to make the world a better place.

One day she couldn't find the paper, where was it, did she throw it away? She was distraught! The paper was determined to self-destruct. Ranaway, didn't know how to be loved, cared for, respected so it crumpled into a little ball and rolled away into a corner. Months went by and she couldn't find the paper, she was angry, hurt, determined that after all the work she put into it that when she did find it she would throw it away forever!

One weekend while cleaning she found it, it had unfurled itself and let the air from the vent carry it to where it could be found. She looked at the paper and all she saw was the angry, hateful, nasty, vulgar words. With all the strength she could muster she balled it up tighter than ever. Determined never to put forth that kind of energy again on anything - she has learned that somethings just aren't worth fixing and it is better to leave them be. She threw the crumpled paper into the fireplace and watched it burn.

- The End