Analysis

I just sit and look at him, elbow on armrest, temple resting against a relaxed fist. He clicks his beak at me, "You look exhausted." I don't even try to reply, falling asleep in my seat. He blinks. I'm not too tired to suppress a faint smile. "It's been awhile...," he says. 

"Yeah."

"You're completely gone." 

"No, not yet." 

"Then may I direct you to the first page, third paragraph?" I dig through my bag until I find it, my rarely used notebook, and flip through it's pages to find the faint words. There it is, the fourth sentence, the one I couldn't believe when I heard it the first time or when I read it the million times after. 

"It seemed so impossible then."

"Paragraph six now--anything stand out?"

"Same thing as usual."

"Keep going."

"Oh, I get it. The last sentence of paragraph six corresponds with paragraph three sentence four?"

"In this case, yes."

I keep reading, but paragraph eight stings. "If only sentence four didn't come without the others. Why is it so hard to find sentences four and two at once? Sentence four was the hardest to fulfill and now I've found it, but I'm missing two. Three just out-right frightens me." 

"That doesn't mean paragraphs three and six are connected to eight. There's some very distinct diction there." At once I wish there wasn't. "No you don't. Hold off on paragraph eight for awhile. Don't forget it, but don't worry about it either. There's plenty of time for that paragraph." 

"You're right. As for the others..."

"O ye of little faith." 

"Yeah, yeah. Rub it in."

"Thanks, I think I will."