Chapter Text
Hi.
Hello.
My name is Karl Jacobs.
Or, I think it is?
I don’t know anymore.
There’s a lot I don’t know anymore. A lot I don’t remember that I should remember.
I really want to write again, like how I did before. My stories used to flow seamlessly even when my grammar was not correct and my spelling most awful. I even had a better way to structure my words then, but now my sentences are weak and feeble. I cannot characterize those I once knew so well in my head- the worlds these characters helped me create. Ones I literally traveled to- watching their fate play out with the ability to change whatever I liked. And record them I must, and record them I did across all of the different universes. Each timeline I could shift slightly and watch their whole life play out again with small differences: some that could change the entire outcome, and some which went unnoticed.
At first I was writing for an invisible audience which would love my work but judge it hard, but then I began pulling from a collection of ideas sprawled about in my head and put pen to paper without care of who would read them. They were for me only, my stories. A sort of escape for a prison I built myself.
Now I can’t write and it’s freaking me out. I jot down countless outlines, but when it comes to immersing (you) in the world, everything falls flat. Suddenly (you’re) just staring at badly written words on a page instead of jumping into a life-altering story. I wanted to write something that would change the world, that would have gained utmost popularity.
And maybe once, not even a few years ago, did I have the motivation and the dreams to do that. To write something that could gain an audience’s attraction. I had so many cool, impossible ideas which only someone complex could muster.
And here I am now. I wake up empty after traveling. Everything only exists clearly for a split second in my mind; a phrase of dialogue, a shattered image of a place, a short description. Almost as if I am only allowed to tap in to 1% of my conscious and access all of the potential I had. Potential whisked away because of my own incompetence and laziness. My endless slumber, my chronic fatigue, all of my energy spent living in my mind as I traversed between ancient cities- like Mizu- and old forgotten towns, and a White Castle.
But I’m running out of time. I’ve been running out of time.
It’s been six years of traveling across the different universes. Each event overlaps yet splits, so many Universes lay on top of each other as their events are so close and are only off-set by the movement of an object, or the inclusion of a word in conversation. Something so small and unimportant can pave a way to the Universes shifting again, and some people are awake enough to realize when they do. The world stays the same in the moment, but overtime they come to realize this is not the timeline they’re meant to be in. Somehow everything shifted, and they can’t go back and change it. Once (you) split, (you) can’t jump back to the Universe before. And it doesn’t come in the form of fancy glowing portals all interconnected, or the vague magic components of an antique watch. It just happens in the code of the endless expansion of what we call “space.”
I don’t know, writing an explanation for that sounds insane. I can’t describe my Universe Theory very well without sounding like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe my mind is still on,
Him. (You). He. . .
Oh XD, I can’t think about him right now.
“We are destined to meet in every other universe. And that’s when you realize he loved you in every other universe, but somehow you always end up in the ones where he doesn’t at all.”
“What if he was the one you were supposed to find again in the future after meeting in the past, yet in this timeline you aren’t allowed to be together, and you don’t know why. Can you keep begging the Universe to give you an answer?”
This sounds kinda stupid.
I sound kind of stupid. I’m just a guy in (your) life. Just a man who likes frogs, and finds fairies in lights. I was afraid of becoming just another guy (you). . . (I don’t want to talk about intimacy). But one day when (you’re) with THE girl I’ll be just another name on that list of people (you) kissed. Just another throw away story to share with the woman (you) love so much.
I don’t perceive myself as one of (your) closest friends anymore. Like up there in the circle with Dream and George. I think at one point (you) said I was- the day in the field of dandelions by Tommy’s ugly cobblestone tower, where (you) were tying up your long black hair with a bandana. The day I realized I might have had feelings for (you), even though (your) face peeled with irritated skin, and (you) couldn’t focus on anything other than a swift beat of music from the jukebox. Something inside me changed and I fucked up- oh I fucked everything up.
(You) said I was really important to (you) but I don’t comprehend how I am, or was. I add nothing to (your) life but a small, insignificant filler friendship with my stupid, lofty, personality. Im someone (you) tell shit to as a life update, but that’s it. A person who will never amount to anything great. A person who drowns their sorrows in the pages of a blank book.
I didn’t influence anything other than (your) intimate drive, I guess. I don’t make anything worthwhile to add to (your) life, and I have no goals whatsoever, especially ones that align with (yours). I dunno why I’m still here.
The Universe keeps blinking a light at me, telling me it’s time to take my departure from (your) life.
Time to move on. My watch is ticking.
I’ve fulfilled my purpose being whatever I was that changed (your) life; gave (you) a good memory and maybe helped (you) learn some lessons. But I think it’s time for me to go for realsies, back to the shifted Universes, back to the worlds made up in my mind.
And of course (you) appear in every single one, Sapnap.
I want to move on so badly. I hate that life made (you) another lesson I had to learn the hard truth of.
(You) were my favorite person.
It’s like an exchange of power, yin and yang.
Somebody loves me, yet I don’t love them back- and then I love somebody and they don’t like me back.
You become what you fear the most I guess, and I think I’m just another story. Another name on (your) list. Another throwaway kiss.
“And the Universe says ‘I Love You.’”
I can tell that I’m starting to loose literacy myself. I’m struggling to spell basic words more often, my head is cloudy, I lack good communication, stringing sentences sometimes get lost. Sometimes I say stuff and it doesn’t make any sense, like this whole entire entry.
What was I writing about again? What was my original thought?
Something about. . . Las Nevadas?
Writing is becoming obsolete. I am running out of time.
I met him a while ago. A man named Quackity. He sort of changed my life. I don’t know if (you’ve) ever met him though, but he wears a ring similar to (yours) on his left hand.
I need to find a way to protect my fragile heart. I’m afraid of hurting Quackity in the process, though. He is my best friend right now. Time is counting down and our fallout is inevitable.
And it will be my fault. I really don’t wanna lose him like I’ve lost (you) too.
Please, Universe. Please don’t take my best friend away.
I promise I’ve learned my lesson.
I have fulfilled my destiny of passing through people’s lives. I come, give advice, create a canon event in some past timeline, and then leave, becoming just a jarring memory.
Before I die I would like to finish at least one original story in my head and publish it as a book.
But I’m struggling so much to make anything that lasts and strikes as a worthwhile read. I do the research, but promptly forget. Everyone sounds the same on paper, but in my mind they are as is. They are exactly who they are. Their execution is perfect. Mine is sloppy. I swear I spend time pouring over drafts, making notes, coming up with fabulous ideas to change the world. But none of them suffice, or are sufficient. I will continue updating them anyways, as there has to be somebody out there who takes interest in my works.
“Could have just not flirted with me and lead me on if you never wanted me in that way, but it’s whatever.”
I loved him.
I would have given up the Universe just for him, waited for him in every timeline until the very end.
I cannot write anything else, as I lack the emotional capacity to do so. Occasionally I get sad, and very much have riddling bouts of anger, but any happiness I feel is hollow and is quickly whisked away. I haven’t experienced joy in a long while, probably because now I equate it to love, and for some reason I am just not allowed to experience love. It is taken from me, or stuck in an infinite loop of limbo. In the past when I would write for (you), for a future of readers. There was much emotion in the written lines of text. They were for (you), and for me. For the fans. My motivation was through the roof, and every day I had something new to explore on paper. Now all I can think about is him- Sapnap- who I’ve re-written to become a concept in my dreams, or how I’m just an empty, nostalgic shell of myself- the young boy I once was.
I don’t ever want to feel like this, or experience this again.