Nestor. Look at this.
Sesil. What is it?
Nestor. It's a note I wrote to myself.
Sesil. "Leaving trees paper planes?" What does that mean?
Nestor. I don't know. I don't even remember writing it.
Sesil. This is your handwriting. I can barely read it. But you don't remember writing it? Where did you find it?
Nestor. On my kitchen table. I wonder if I was sleepwalking.
Sesil. It's kind of like you're communicating with yourself.
Nestor. It's weird, though. What was I trying to tell myself? Leaving trees paper planes? There's something familiar about it, but it makes no sense.
Sesil. You should write a note back.
Nestor. To myself? Will you be the first one to welcome me to the funny farm?
Sesil. I'll plan for your escape.
Nestor. What should I write?
Sesil. Just ask yourself what leaving trees paper planes means.
Nestor. Would I really know what it means?
Sesil. You wrote it. Then you should ask why you wrote it.
Nestor. I should write myself to stop writing notes to myself.
End. Leaving Trees Paper Planes