When I look back at the things I wrote it’s funny because every letter to him starts the same and ends the same.
Every story I attempted to form around him said the same things. But when all is said and done I never felt like I had said anything at all. The truth is, I couldn’t tell a story about him. He’s real, a real person, living and breathing and invading my sweetest dreams.
How can you demote a person you long for, a person you love , into a character? A character all these people will idolize and dream about, whilst you try your best to write the idealistic future. In reality there is no idealistic future for him and I.
I’m a writer but I don’t believe in happy ever after. I believe that writers fill empty spaces with characters. And in time that person becomes nothing more than that character.
So you see, I can’t let him be the base to my nonexistent character, to fill the all too tangible empty space. What I felt and what I feel are real feelings that hurt and make me happy. I just don’t have the guts to tell the world that, the feelings are mine and I think they are the only thing keeping me remotely sane.