As I turn the pages of the book I clusp in my palms and read about you, a certain kind of inexplicable attraction draws me towards you. The one where all I can do is sigh in the way a lover first sighs when they realize they’re in love.
I have a beautiful imagery of you in my head which I have carefully created over time, pausing on every intricate detail of your physical attributes just like an artist gently strokes his canvas with his brushes making a breathing masterpiece.
I am in love with the way you grin, the way you brush away your hair from your forehead, the way you walk across the street under a moonlit night. I know of the memories that flood into your mind when you see that one place and all those feelings just rush into you and you simply stare into space, thinking of all that could’ve been prevented. I know you’re hurting, and ah I wish I could console you then.
I won’t be able to see you when you sleep, the way your chest rises and drops like the tide with every breath you take. I won’t be able to lend the shoulder you could cry on when your heart is weary of this cruel world. I won’t be able to see your smile in an ice cream parlor where we sit while you narrate a hilarious incident that lights your eyes like a million stars, and oh I could’ve lost myself in that universe.
We can never hold hands. Share stories. Jump in a lake. And breathe together. For I am made of skin and bones and a heart that beats when the blood makes its way through it. And oh you, are crafted of ink and words and a heart that comes to life when the words of a book are read.
So if I ever happen to cross over into your alternate universe promise me you’ll take me to that lake where you learnt to fish, to your grandma’s house and give me a taste of her orange marmalade, show me your sketchbook and take me far far away so that a billion little stars and the power of words can never break us apart.
An ode of gratitude to all the fictional characters I have met.