My beautiful, beautiful creature,
Writing this - starting to write this - made me think: is it right for me to adress you like this? Is this offensive in any way? Because it might be, depending on how you look at it. I remember thinking of this - again - when I got you that print. You're not just one thing. You're multitudes. Universes, however you want to define whatever you carry inside. You cannot be described in one word that would fit all of you.
How do you call someone so gentle, but with a hint of a razorblade?
I read Frankenstein excruciatingly slowly. I should've done the same with your book. I remember going through the pages - slowly at first, sometimes giggling at your weird stylistic structures and the lack of paragraphs, noting things down, furrowing my brows trying to decipher elaborate descriptions of tactical moves or guns that I don't give a shit about. But then I fell in. I got absorbed by the story, descriptions... but the flickers of you in it created this tether between myself, the book and you. It felt like having a conversation, and as long as I was reading it kept going.
At some point I started to dread for the ending. When you see - physically see - the pages melting before your eyes and are unable to stop it, to somehow save this tether...
I don't know how to describe it.
Terrifying comes close.
Is this how you see this? I feel somehow obliged to write something - anything - every day, just to give you some peace of mind. A short respite from everything. A mental hug, because most of the time I'm unable to give you the real thing. I'm happy to do this - don't you worry.
I haven't written this much in a very long time. I haven't ever written this much prose. That's why I must warn you - soon you might find a lof of weird stuff here. Poetry. Mindflow. Diary stuff. I try to keep my hand from describing fantasies here, but it doesn't change much - it'll all be related to you, in one way or the other.
Like how a group of sharks is called a shiver. And now I imagine a ton of miniature flying sharks circling you standing there, in the cold, looking at me with that adorable smirk and shaking while they gently nibble on your skin.
See? Doesn't make any sense.
None of this does.
And none of it matters - as long as it makes you happy, even if just a little bit.