Satan reincarnate: You're my Poetry

You're My Poetry

*** 

Five years had passed. Five years since I had seen him, heard him, or felt him. Everyday I sat in my office, tears threatening to spill as I wrote line after line of the book I had always dreamed of publishing. However, nobody knew It was just a diary of everything that had happened to me, all those years ago. Nobody knew I was searching for him, and nobody knew the state he left me in. Laying all alone in that hospital bed, waiting for him to walk through that door I would spend hours staring at, yet he never did.

I looked at my computer, rereading each line I had previously wrote before dropping my head into my tired hands. I exhaled, I was done for the night. Another day of waiting for him, and another day of absolutely nothing. Where are you, Bill Kaulitz?

Yes, missing his was probably a mistake. Wanting him back was probably how I was going to die.. I mean- he left me for a reason. But why would he come back? I needed to hear him. It broke my heart remembering everything about him but his voice. I didn't have one piece of evidence to prove his existence, except that letter. The clothes set out for me all that time ago disappeared, into thin air basically. The scrubs got ruined in the move, so the only valid proof of his existence was that solitary note. There's been buzz about him, how the infamous squad of "four merciless men" completely vanished from Los. Angeles. I've done my research, tried my best to dig around. I used my newfound riches to hire only the best of detectives, even do the work of my own. But it was like the earth absorbed him. He left no trace that he was even real. 

I sat up, looking around at the luxury I worked so hard for. I knew he helped, I knew it was him paying off my college loan. I knew he was watching, but from where? I just needed him. I was so alone, and he was the only one on my mind. The fame and love from the public was amazing, finally being recognized for my writing was refreshing. I always wondered if he had ever read the articles about me, maybe if he even read any of my pieces. I looked back to my desk, looking at the framed missing persons poster of me from way back then. Yes, it was sick of me to keep. The circumstances of that poster were vile, disgusting even. But it helped me remember. 

I sighed. Things were going downhill. My agent quit about a week ago, maybe two. I've been dealing with the press and my book all alone, trying to handle interviews by myself too. I had my manager, but she had been gone on a hunt to find me a new agent. My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me out of my usual pit of thoughts.

"Well speak of the devil." I whispered, looking at the name. I swiped right, answering the call.

"Hey, Anna." I said, smiling. Yeah she was my manager, but also one of my best friends. She helped me heal, without even knowing what kind of wounds she was slowly fixing. 

"Girl! I think I found you an agent!" She squealed, out of breath. 

My eyes widened, it felt like forever. "Seriously?" I smiled, pretty much jumping up and down. 

"Hell yeah! I interviewed him, and everything checks out. All you need to do is decide how you feel." She pondered.

"Alright, set me up!" I exclaimed, patiently waiting.

"He's on the other line. Is it alright if I switch you over?"

"Yes, please!" I practically yelled.

I heard a few beeps, and static for a moment. 

"Hello?" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows. 

"Hello." I heard from the other line. His foreign voice made my body stiffen, it was so strange. Like a reflex almost. It was strangely familiar, but maybe I was just nervous. 

"How are you?" I asked, slowly sitting back down.

"I'm alright, and you?" His strange voice softened. 

"I'm doing okay. Alright-" I started, but he cut me off.

"You know, I love your writing. I really do." I heard a smile through his words. 

"Really? You read it?" I began to smile, sinking in my seat.

"Yeah, I did. I think the title is clever."

I pursed my lips, fighting back the biggest grin. 'Swan Song' was the name of the book I published. I found it fitting- I was so drawn to Bill's beauty and grace, but he was manic, and violent with a lack of self control. Yet, I couldn't help but slowly fall in love with him, just like a swan moving over the surface of the water.

"Thank you, so much." I muttered, waiting for his answer.

He let out a short laugh, clearing his throat. "In fact, you inspired me to start writing as well."

I widened my eyes. "Seriously?" 

"Mhm." He sounded. "In fact, you're almost my muse."

I laughed. "That's a far cry." 

His voice hardened again as he inhaled. "I wouldn't say so." He paused. "How about we formally meet tomorrow- interview over a coffee?" He asked. "Noon? I'll send you a spot."

"Yeah- yeah. It's been a pleasure talking to you, I'm looking forward to tomorrow." I softly smiled. 

"Me as well. I would like to thank you, too." He added on.

"What for?" I raised my eyebrows as I stood up from my lounge. 

"You inspire me. In fact- I would say you're my poetry." He softly said, his voice becoming more familiar than it ever had been. 

I froze. Those three words, the familiarity of his voice. It had to be a coincidence. Hearing this.. this message. After looking at that letter everyday- memorizing it through and through. "You'll know when I'm back... You're my poetry." Did he just announce his return? Or am I just starved of him? Oh lord did I miss him. I prayed for his every night, before every meal, whenever I missed him. I prayed for his return, was this it?

"I'm sorry?" I whispered, my voice breaking. 

The other line went dark, he had hung up.  My heart tightened, it couldn't be him. After all these years, one random night? I turned to look at the crumpled letter, framed on my desk.

In my dreams.

***