the letter i just sent to my favourite author but with more honesty

based on a true story.

hi. hello. greetings. when someone has been a figure in your head for a long time it is weird to think that you are an actual, physical person, with days and nights and futures and pasts. and children. and parents. and endings. and beginnings. and if you ever read this, i just want you to know. that i’m rooting for you. and you’ve made me happy. and i hurt, but sometimes your stories make the hurt less for me. your stories have made me laugh. your stories make me happy, your stories make fireworks go off inside me one after the next, lighting up the sky when the stars need replacing, because there are nights and days on end when inside, there is nothing. your books make me happy, sunflowers and dandelions, small flickers of light in the void inside me. i hope i’m not making you feel pressured, but if i am it’s ok if you stop reading here i’m sorry. i understand that you’re a person i just wanted you to know, that i’m scared of falling out of love as much as i am scared of falling in it, because love is a swimming pool and i am a child who never took swimming lessons. i’m scared of lightswitches, because i have hit them enough times to know that one motion is enough to change the world, and change the world is not always a good expression. i’m scared that someday, i won’t want to be this person. i’m scared my heart can be outgrown. i’m scared, and yeah, i cling sometimes. cling, like i’ve been stripped down to skin and bone and there’s nothing left of me but hope and words and sometimes music notes. cling, like you’re the last meal i will ever eat. cling, as i’m standing at the edge of the river tears falling like raindrops onto the water, and it feels like everything is spinning, and i am so, so scared of falling. you have no idea how scared i am of losing. have no idea the monsters, kicking sandstorms, and i won’t go into detail because i don’t know how to tell you the whole truth so i won’t because i don’t want you to help me without my permission. oh god. sorry if i’m rambling i hope i’m not wasting your time it’s just. are you like the characters in your books? are you the kind of person who fights through the pain, who has felt pain, who beleives there is good in the world? i know i don’t have the rights to ask all these questions, i’m sorry. being alone in your own head all day makes you curious in a desperate lonely sort of way. and i have stomped my curiosity into pieces, i still do it all the time, this moment is wild and reckless, so i’m sorry for being proud of it. proud of it, like for a second, i am more than space junk through days where when you ask how i’m doing the best i can give is a shrug, and my eyes are blank, and the shadows are deadweights more than they ever are capes. i’m sorry if i’m wasting your time, i just wanted to say that i hope your heart can touch mine. and i’m sorry, i’m probably dodging the point. if this ever reaches you, i want you to know books don’t work miracles but thank you for giving me a place that almost feels like home. i just want to believe that every single one of us feels all the same emotions, and therefore connection is possible even when it is with someone i will never meet in person. so is it ok if i’m honest? are you one of those people that can take the brunt of it? because all i’m really trying to ask is please tell me you’ve felt the dark, too. because if you’ve felt the dark, and if it’s not too much trouble asking, could you please tell me where the hell the light is?


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