I read a lot.
I read a lot of romance novels.
I read a lot of fiction.

I know they're not real people.
I hope that the love in the story is how love truly feels...
or maybe it's something else.

To write a story you need imagination. That's fake isn't it?
A fictional story is something that isn't real.
So the themes like love in it aren't real either, right?

I have an overactive imagination.
That's even more fake.
Nothing I could ever imagine would be real.

Maybe one day it might be.
But not now and not in the past.

You know what I often imagine? You and me.
In the future of course.
So... is that fake?

This... "character" that I've "created" based off of you in my head.
It's not you.
You're you and anything else isn't.
Even my "character" that's portraying you.

But what about you... the real you?
Do I know you as much as I know this "character"?
Probably not.

Do I... love you as much as I love this "character"?
... I don't know ...
I now start to fear that...

I've simply fallen in love with the idea of you.

As heartbreaking as that might sound.
As painful as typing this may be.
As nerve wracking as pressing "send" may be.

I hope that I truly love you...
and not this "character" that I've created.

hunched over
in the shower
cold water
spraying down

you shiver
I trace your exposed spine
with
my finger
and whisper
"come closer"

the destination?
technicolor paradise:
Imagination

You are not alone
      he whispered and kissed her
But she knew that
       that was a huge
                lie.

What you have done for me
has saved my life
thank you

these dragons are no longer my terrors,
they are my friends
how grateful I am for you showing me
that I don't have to hide who I am
because of the wolves that stalk me
and taunt me

THANK YOU FOR HELPING ME SEE CLEARLY

I imagine you standing there, flicking your hair
and the red glow of some sign backlights you
so your silhouette is dark, moody
like the leather jacket you always wear-
but to be ironic
because you're like that
My eyes can just make out the flicker of your pupils
under spidery lashes
and you give me a smirk
because you know I'm watching
I seem to be always watching you
You're leaning in that funny way again
like up against a wall, only there's not one there
your head cocked to the side
as you wait for something to happen
I am the one to make the move,
because I always am,
and you don't hesitate before grabbing my elbow
and we race off into the night
the puddles soaking your scuffed boots
and the cuffs of your jeans
You smell of smoke and that cologne you always wear
and I am desperate to keep you with me
because you are the closest thing to perfect that I know
I imagine you grab my waist
and you tell me all the things I have always wanted to hear

and it isn't enough.