let's talk if you have time

It's been years and I am still wondering who left that note on Hawthorne's book that I was reading in the library.
It reminded me of those hours I've spent staring at the fire exit, imagining myself hanging dead and being changed into beautiful butterflies that most likely resemble the creation of an Alexander McQueen.
It reminded me of strange faces I once knew.
It reminded me how I silently mocked the cowardice of the person who wrote it.
I have time. I have a lot of free time. I can even cancel some stuff so that I can say I have free time. But I will only make another one know about it if they need some of my time.
Talk. What will I make out of it. Words. They mean nothing. So why say some words? To communicate. I have a limited understanding of things. I have my own expectation of things. I have my own conclusion about things. It's very simple and it works for me. To communicate would make things a little complex. To discuss feelings would be difficult because it deals with things I cannot understand. To question me about how I view things might just perplex others. I have an eye that sees colorful lines dancing. I have an eye that sees bubbles instead of raindrops, but I call them raindrops because everybody says it is what they say it is.
When I'm running out of time, perhaps, I will find reason to talk. Talk with sense. Talk about things I am familiar with. Talk about things that would be understandable to anyone. Talk so the big mouths would finally shut up. It's all about finding the appropriate time.