SOMEONE showed me a book today, a really good one she was reading. The front cover had this lifelike illustration of a blue ribbon, the kind they glue onto the book spine for use as a bookmark that you'll never lose. I began telling her - and I can't explain why I did that - about when I was younger and used to like to finger and stroke those kinds of bookmarks or when I closed the book, do it gently and arrange the strip of fabric carefully so it wouldn't get bent out of shape and so even the threads sticking out on its frayed end would look pretty. At some point maybe the almost-spiritual, ritualistic stroking might have been recognized as a sign of autism - repititive motor motion. But I was oblivious I suppose. And every time I reached out to try to stroke a fake one, an illustration, I would sit and softly wonder why people had to try to trick people, why they lied and disappointed and were never as they seemed.
Today I asked that friend if it was real before reaching out to try for myself. Because after a while I guess I sort of started thinking all of them were all just make-believe, and not the fairytale ending variety.
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