Greetings to you, my reader. For the longest time I have been longing for someone, anyone, to pick up my words. This book.
You see, you must understand, this is not my story. It can only be my story if you are a part of it. You look a bit, confused? I don't get it. What is to be misunderstood?
If ever I could be gifted with the privilege, for you to explain to me in your own words, I wouldn't be worthy. To read your words, or better yet, hear your voice, how could I? As I am simply an abundance of words scribbled onto a page, to be read by the one and only, you.
I cannot help but admire your eyes, so intricate. Staring at my pointless sentences yet so immersed. They are beyond gorgeous, trust me. I couldn't tell you a lie. What would be the point in me lying? As if your memory of me will ever last, but oh, how I hope it does. My only aim of all this, is to befriend you. Be trusted by you. Be remembered by you. For our relationship to be only enjoyed by you and I. As this relationship cannot go any further than these pages. If only you could understand the things I would do to leave these lines. To be free. To be with you.
You don't even know anything about me. How could I expect you to have any interest in me? I can't tell you much. Words and works of literature can't have a personality. How I wish I was more than what I have been restricted to. More than words. More than ink. I am more than another book, for anyone can put words onto a piece of paper, but not everyone can make you feel this way. But my thoughts of myself can only go so far. And no matter how much I can try, I never will be what I tell myself I am. Stuck. Trapped with my only expression as words. As words can only do so much, not nearly enough. It really saddens me to know that I will never really see you. Your eyes are visible from here, nothing else. I shouldn't need to know what you look like. Looks shouldn't make a difference. Even though I fully believe that ones appearance should make no difference in my thoughts of you, I can't help but be curious. I can't help but wonder what you look like beyond those charming eyes.
If only there was a way I could find out more about you. It's hard to build some form of friendship when there is only one side, but what else have I to do? I have already written about so much, so many different topics and subjects, I've gone into so much detail in hopes something, anything, will come of my words, yet not a single person has appreciated any of it. It gets quite lonely after all this time, waiting here, collecting dust, to be recognized by someone, it seems that someone is you.
My favorite things to write, are storys. I imagine myself as more than a collection of pages and put myself into a different situation. A situation better than what I find myself in now. Perhaps one day I shall write a story where I really see you, and you see me, as we may not see each other in this life, but I pray that one day, we meet again, but in another story, together. To you, my words may just be a story, but to me, you are the reason I even have one.
I wholeheartedly believe that no one could ever comprehend how much you mean to me. Just by reading what I have scribbled down, aimlessly, onto this series of pages. Because of you, my words finally have a meaning. While you stare and fall in love with these words on my paper, I stare back, falling in love with every detail of you. I will carry infinite sadness, that I will never get to read your story. Your words. Your view of things. Your view of me. There are endless chapters in ones life, I will forever be grateful that you have chosen to read mine.
I wish I was there, with you. Imagine how happy we would be together. Yet, the most painful thing is, that the only thing preventing us from being with each other is paper. Easily ripped. Easily shredded to pieces. It's unbelievably unfair. Even when there are no more pages for you to turn, when my words can go no farther, I will find a way to reach you again. Remember, just because my writing has discontinued, my thoughts of you won't. They never will. I promise. Will you still think of me when the pages are blank? When I have nothing left to say? No, please don't answer, I can't bare the thought of you saying "no". I know my words are safe with you, you've been gentle enough not to rip them up yet, and with every word you read, every second you spend with me, every thought that you have of me, is another tear I lose as I can never be with you.
I love how you read so peacefully, full of emotion brought to you by nothing more than a page. Your eyes sparkling, carefully reading every letter I write for you. I could keep writing forever, if you wanted me to. I really would if that was what you wished for me to do, to repay you, repay you for opening this book one day, changing my life.
Even if I only exist in the back of your mind, what makes me feel alive is your heart.
There is no happy ending, not for me at least. For I have to watch you turn the last page and lose the memories I have created for you. No matter how many pages this book has, none of it matters if it isn't read by you.
Shortly, you will close this book. You might inspect the covers, look over the small text, read it a few times over and then forget about it. All I ask is for you not to forget me, as I shall not you. So I will wait in these pages forever, if that means I get to fall in love with you again.
