And I was a writer, I had the ability to change the perception of the way things were viewed in the world around me. Even more so, I could create worlds in the lives of people around me; I had a way of taking nothing and turning it into some of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. So that’s what I did for you. You were lost in this dark world where you saw yourself as black and everything around you was just as doomed as you were. So I turned your pumpkins into carriages, I made you gowns fit for queens. And your monsters, the ones the size of mountains, the ones that loomed over you and made you afraid to ever let anyone in again? I turned those into ants, I created a world for you where you could stomp them out, where they no longer hindered all that you could accomplish. My words and the world they built for you changed you. They took those walls of fear and distrust you built because of everyone before me and they became doors, secure, but able to be opened. I held your hand as you traveled through the most luscious and dark valleys to conquer your mountains, as you learned that safety and love were true and possible. I let my heart speak my intentions, to let you know I would be nothing like the rest. But like every writer, I never am quite satisfied with the art and masterpieces I’ve helped create. The way I could build you a foundation as light as clouds, the kind to make you feel like you were flying, I could build you one of cement that could make you come crashing to the ground. I could make something beautiful into something tragic, it is in my nature after all to kill off the favorite characters of the story. But you were so beautiful, so essential to the beauty of the world. I couldn’t taint you. So I hoped that parts of me would be so engrained in your chromosomes and I left. I ended our story line and started a new one, under a new name, in a different city.
I am no longer helping write your story, but I hope whoever is, will cross our paths again. I hope it is you that makes me feel like flying is synonymous with falling, the kind of falling where you never want it to end.