Sleepy Bois Inc One Shots

Unseen Words

This is a chapter somewhat based on my life. This is very short so I apologize in advance. There shouldn't be any triggers in it.

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Wilbur loved to write. He would write for days on end if he could. He would write stories, letters, or meaning less passages about his feelings. At first he would write on paper but one day he disposed of all the pages. People had come to close to knowing his secrets. They had come too close to knowing his real feelings. After that he turned to his phone. He would write pages of words just to hide them or delete them later.

They always had meaning and, more often then not, they were ment for someone. It was always for one of his friends or his family. And on rare occasions it would be fun, made up stories. Or even about his day and his feelings. He would poor all of this into paragraphs that would never be seen by eyes other than his own. Once he attempted to send one but he chickened out last minute and deleted it instead.

This part always broke him. He would spend all this time writing for no one to see it. No one to know how he felt when he put the words on a page. He would watch, every time, as yet another writing disappeared. But this didn't stop him. Sure it was heartbreaking to make stories and letters only to have no one know of them. But it was comforting.

Words won't judge you. Your worlds that you create in your head won't judge you. The stories he created gave him comfort. They gave him something to love when everything else left him.

People could come and go in his life. People could judge him. But that words that he created didn't. They pored out of his heart and soul onto the pages. He would write and write and write. He was occasionally discouraged for it. No one could understand why he did it. But he knew. He knew the joy it gave him was important to him. When times were hard all he had to do was find his phone, laptop, or a paper and pen.

That was his safe haven. One that he wasn't quite redy to share, but maybe one day people would know his writings. To some people the words would seem meaningless but to him, and many other people out there like him. Those words mental every thing and were a reason why they were still here.

But to understand his love for words and writing you must also know his love to read. Other writers words captivate him. They draw him in. They make him want them more. Every page, every book. He wants to see them all. He wants to read all the stories and write his own. But no matter how much he reads and sees the work of all these brave souls who put there work out for everyone, he won't be able to.

At least not in the way he wants to. He wants to write long, captivating stories. He wants people to read it and feel the way he feels. But he doesn't know how. How do you put yourself out there like that? How do you put your words, you heart, your soul out there like that?

He has words that will never be strung together to be read by others. Only his eyes will see the words dancing around the pages. Only he will know if the amazing adventures that his characters would have. He hides so much more than his ideas like this. He hides himself and who he is. The words he writes are only for him. The long tails that need to be revived over, and over, and over again will never get to be seen.

But he knows what they are, and for know that's enough. His endless writing and creating can never be dulled or stopped. It will just fill his brain until he has to write. Then he will, only for the story to be lost and forgotten like so many others. His ideas if mystical lands and conflicts would interest so many. But he won't see that, and if he did? It wouldn't matter. In order to put something out in the works like that takes confidence. Confidence that he doesn't have. Or maybe he does have but just chooses to ignore its constant shouts to do more. Be more.

The words he writes and thinks about are his children. No more special than children. They are a part of him. He loves them more than he loves himself, and definitely more than he could ever love a child of his. Because a human makes mistakes and can become lost. They can hurt you. But words can't. They make you better, stronger even. And even if no one sees them they are there. Some people have the ability to put them into beautiful passages, while others just enjoy seeing what others come up with.

Words mean more to him than anything. Some people wouldn't understand, but some would. Some share in his problems while some solve them. Others look on confused. It's sad when one doesn't understand the importance of words. They are something that cannot be replaced or lost. They are perfect.

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I haven't been feeling the best recently. (I don't think it's covid don't worry other stuff happened and I think it's a result of that) and so writing is kind of hard to do but it's also one of the only things I want to do so we will see when the next update comes out.

Be safe and find happiness!

~Bee