Chapter Text
To My Inevitable Downfall,
I have realized that if we had met in normal circumstances, we would have loved each other properly.
That term is used loosely, though.
"Properly".
What can count as doing something properly anymore?
Maybe if we had met in a writing class at college, had studied together in the libraries and gotten coffee too early in the morning and slept curled together in twin beds that would never be ours.
Maybe if I had found you in a bar somewhere and tasted alcohol on your tongue from the moment we came together, delighting in the inebriation of our minds and the buzz of each other's touch.
Maybe if we had known each other for years, known each other inside and out before we ever realized it was love we felt, deep infatuation for someone so close to us.
Maybe if we met at a party or in a restaurant or on a white sand beach somewhere hundreds of miles away from our regular lives, I could have loved you properly.
That is not how we met, though. That isn't how our story goes, if we even have a story, if we could even count as a sentence or a paragraph in the books about each other's lives.
I wish to be more than a paragraph in your book. I wish to be a page, a chapter, maybe even a separate novel. I wish for us to be as intertwined as two people can be, to become less of an idea and of more importance than I already am.
It has always been that I ask for too much. I cannot help it; it is in my nature to ask for things I cannot have, to desire something unattainable so desperately that it could nearly destroy me.
My dreams have been plagued by you. Maybe they have become nightmares, taunting me with my greatest desire, want, need. You are always ethereal, untouchable, and I fall to my knees and beg to be able to have but a single taste, a single touch of your skin under my fingers, a single moment where our lips meet.
When you deny me, say that I will never be able to touch... that truth is what turns it into a nightmare.
You once asked me, on a whim, on a dare, what the worst thing I've ever done is.
I think it is loving you.
Not because of you, but because I shouldn't, I can't, I'm not supposed to. I'm not allowed to look through a screen, let the blue light paint my face, and imagine the taste of your mouth on my own, imagine the feeling of our hands clasped together like they were meant to be held like that.
I know I should pursue someone else, fawn over someone else's voice and laugh and smile and eyes and humor, but how can I when you are simply so addicting?
Did you know that I've never missed one of your streams?
Did you know I try to write interactions between our characters into the SMP script so I can speak to you?
Did you know I'm glad you won the duel instead of me?
No, you don't know any of those, because I have to stay quiet, stay out of your mind because I know we could never be anything other than doomed.
I can't bear to have the taste of your rejection, so I will settle for fantasies of your hands grasped in my hair and your mouth leaving trails of desire across my body.
I know it is wrong to even think like that, but...
I can no longer excuse it.
You are the first taste of whiskey, the love song on the radio, and the sunshine streaming through my curtains. You are fresh sheets and warm water on my back and the smell of baking cookies.
What I mean to say is that I love you, and if we met in regular circumstances, you would love me as well.
As sincerely as I might ever be,
Dream