"I always have spare ones with me for jotting down ideas," Dex says without looking up while he digs through the drawer. "There's something much different about writing your thoughts down on paper. The computer just isn't the same."
"I agree," I nod automatically, trying very hard not to stammer as I stare at the notebook. I'm almost afraid to open it because of what my own holds at home. I know these kinds of notebooks are common. They're classic and available pretty much everywhere, but… what are the odds? Truly?
"Plus, if I don't jot ideas down when I get them, they're liable to disappear." He smiles and passes a pen across the desk.
I wish that was true for me, but it's the opposite. Those dreams—every detail—will replay over and over in my mind on repeat, tumbling forth and driving me absolutely mad unless I write them down. For some reason they need to be committed to paper. They need to be made real so that they will give me peace.
