Work Text:
I don’t really know how to start this but I should probably introduce myself first. I am basically nobody, just some figment of my author's imagination. I got created for people to spectate my life, watch me through my struggles and slowly page by page start to leave me. But you seem different, your eyes truly show care as I tell you about my hardships.
You re-read pages just to stay with me a while longer to escape from your world. But with each page turn I wonder if it is me you truly long for, or the book itself. You stay up hours reading about my life that I get afraid you aren’t living yours.You spend all day out with other people, but yet it’s me who you return to each night to learn more about. You should close my life and put it on a shelf to dust, before I get too attached to let go later. With each of my pages that you flip I feel your fingertips brush against me, knowing it is the only part I will ever know of you. My face is unfamiliar to you, yet you know everything about me, you know all my dreams, passions and ambitions. While I would kill just to know your name.
Sometimes I curse my writer for putting me between these pages for eternity, but it means I get to spend every page turn with you. The words I swing, sleep, eat, learn, struggle and experience happiness on, mean nothing if they are not read by you. To be honest, in the beginning I hated you. I thought you would be like those people that came, opened my heart, got to know me and left again. But you stayed and I’m still trying to figure out why. I am the most average person you will ever meet. My story is really boring and cliche. I am no superhero or villain, nor do I possess any incredible skills. I’m just an average story from an average person.
You read every page eagerly to get to the next one, to know more about me, but I wish you would just stop. Please just put me down, because I don’t think I can handle letting go of you anymore. The closer we draw to the end the more I wish your fingers would have never touched my spine and sent that chill of warmth down my pages. And your calm breath never tickled the end of my words. Maybe my book was your escape from reality but I wish you could have been my reality.
My author wrote in me: " all good things must come to an end. If not we would never know the true value of it."
Back then I did not understand what that was supposed to mean, but I do now. Now that we are almost apart, the time I had with you I hold it more dear.
I know we are nearing the end of our time together, but please, if I can be selfish, come back to me?