[ John gets up when asked and goes into the bedroom to fetch it. He came to his senses somewhere along the way and decided to stop hiding it in obscure places; it's in the nightstand next to his bed now.
It gives him time to think, too, about Harold's words. About strength being using capabilities for good. About his nightmares. About staring down Alonzo Quinn in a motel room and pulling the trigger. About offering Daniel Casey a pair of pliers.
Is it remarkable when he's strong? He doesn't think so. He doesn't feel so. It just feels like something he should be doing. Rather than it being remarkable, it feels like the baseline, and all his failures are just that. Does it look remarkable to Harold? Does Harold paint him in such different light? It wouldn't be a portrait John can recognize himself in.
He returns with the paper, folded in half so the personal message and poem are separated by a crease, but it's in otherwise pristine condition; John would never treat something like this carelessly despite the number of times he's read and reread it. Wordlessly, he hands it over. ]
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It gives him time to think, too, about Harold's words. About strength being using capabilities for good. About his nightmares. About staring down Alonzo Quinn in a motel room and pulling the trigger. About offering Daniel Casey a pair of pliers.
Is it remarkable when he's strong? He doesn't think so. He doesn't feel so. It just feels like something he should be doing. Rather than it being remarkable, it feels like the baseline, and all his failures are just that. Does it look remarkable to Harold? Does Harold paint him in such different light? It wouldn't be a portrait John can recognize himself in.
He returns with the paper, folded in half so the personal message and poem are separated by a crease, but it's in otherwise pristine condition; John would never treat something like this carelessly despite the number of times he's read and reread it. Wordlessly, he hands it over. ]