Madelyn Morrow
Welcome back, dear reader. It is wonderful to see your captivating eyes and curious smile once again. I am glad to see that you have made my acquaintance.
Ah, it seems I have startled yo
u. It is obvious from the presence of that familiar, confused look again. I remember it well. Even after all of these years, your eyebrows still knit together when you’re perplexed, as if they are physically trying to make sense of things by piecing the uncertainties together themselves.
Rest assured. This story will give you much more clarity as it unfolds.
Goodness gracious, where are my manners? This is usually the point where I would introduce myself (this is the introduction, after all). But I really do not find that necessary. After all, we have met before, so I feel it is most appropriate to catch up on lost time! There are so many chapters in a person’s life, so I am beyond grateful that you are patient enough to read mine.
While you were away, I was pondering ways that I could impress you. There are only so many ways that I can do that, being limited to the words I find myself to exist in. But after some serious brainstorming and moments spent in a turf war with the blank spaces between my paragraphs, I decided to try spicing things up by refreshing my look. Maybe a makeover will convince you to hang onto my words a bit longer this time around.
The only problem is, I do not know what your type is, and there are so many options to choose from!
After much deliberation, I settled back into my classic Times New Roman, because who doesn’t love a reliable, classic option every once in a while? Regardless of my font choice, I just know that your type tendencies are impeccable. I mean, just take a look at your superb taste in literature.
Hmm, how shall we pass the time? We can’t exactly chat over a cup of lukewarm coffee at the run-of-the-mill coffee shop or sneak glances at one another during the latest major motion picture.
Tic Tac Toe, perhaps? No, that will take up too much of my ink.
A word search? Again, bad idea. I’m sure you’re already searching for the meaning in my words as it is.
How about 20 questions? We could give that a shot.
Alright, first question: What brings you back to me today? Is it just a result of your effort to satisfy your boredom? Or are you trying to escape from the hardships of your world? Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.
Unfortunately, I have never known the privilege of having a means to transcend life’s woes through the lore of another’s authorship. My sorry excuse for a reality has been limited to the confines of these 1-inch margins, after all. Just look at me: my life really is an ever-constant cycle of monotony, as I find myself imprisoned by these letters and the syntax they were given.
Every moment I spend with you is the closest I will ever get to finding some escape. I had never spent a moment pondering an escape from this repetitive atmosphere before you. Thank you for offering me a glimpse of deliverance from my discourse, even if it merely lasts for a brief time.
Moving on. Second question: What do I look like in your mind’s eye? What do my words sound like? I have always wondered how my voice sounds to you as you explore the words on these pages. Is it reminiscent of your loved one that passed on years before? Maybe my tone is maintaining the wisps of their presence in your memory. Then again, maybe not. Maybe, just maybe, you are navigating my words with your own voice, softly spoken, with a touch of wonder.
I remember when you read my pages aloud, giving life to my silly little syllables and bad excuses for poetic clauses. I cherished the sound of my words on your tongue, grieved for the heart-wrenching moments that your voice choked over, and adored the sheer passion you illustrated through the variations in your intonation. Regardless, I hope you will always be around to read my story, even if it seems repetitive after a while. I have plenty of words to say, but none of them would mean anything if they were not being read by you.
Wow, my word count is dwindling much faster than I thought it would. I don’t want to spend our fleeting moments together filling the lines with my rambling, so I have one more question: What is it about me that draws you in?
I observe your expressions through the o’s of that familiar look, taking account of the soft twitches of your facial muscles as your emotions flicker in accordance with the mood of the passage. The first time we met, I was met with a confident curiosity, thirsting for the knowledge of what wonders my pages behold. When you return, I am mesmerized by your brilliant smile, tilted upwards with enthusiasm while retracing the steps of our time spent with one another. You meet me with unbridled joy, delight, and satisfaction over my ordinary orations. Your nimble fingers delicately caressed my pages, leaving me buzzing in anticipation of the next page turn. This world made sense when I was at your disposal. For a moment, I almost believed that you felt the same way about me that I did about you.
Yet in this moment, I can sense things are different somehow. I have read you as you have been reading me, and I can see your affliction, clear as crystal. You are absent-mindedly flipping through my paragraphs, but you are not reading them. Not really, anyways. You seem to be staring off into space, fixating on irrelevant letters and blank spaces, almost as if your mind has been rendered emptier than my extra pages. I fear that I can no longer bring you the same peace as I have time and time before now. My bent pages and smudged ink may have finally reached their expiration date.
Oh my. Has our time together reached its final moments already? There is so much more I want to say, so many words that have been left unsaid. My heart aches at the thought that our story is ending so soon. I wish I could help somehow, to reach beyond the bars of this paper prison to assure you that things will work out the way they are meant to. Especially the things between us. But I am and forever will be I am confined to this series of pages, this procession of passages. It was you that brought me to life, dear reader, and I know that my existence means nothing without you.
Here we are now, in the home stretch. Every time we approach these lines, my heart aches. I wonder, this is it, isn’t it? There are no more chapters, no more climaxes, no more plot twists. Only this final falling action rapidly descending towards the last punctuation point of this 12-point Times New Roman font. Each reunion has made these moments together bittersweet, but I recognize now that this really is it this time.
I always knew this is how we were going to end, but I wish it didn’t have to be so soon. Maybe, in some alternate dimension, universe, or state of consciousness, we can embrace one another beyond the confines of these page margins. I am just scared you would not recognize me then. But one can dream, am I right?
For now, these words may remain the same, but so will my love for you, beautiful soul. I may not have a steady heartbeat or enough breath in my lungs to ever sing you sweet melodies, but I do have these words. May these words forever invite you to return: I’ll always be as near to you as the turn of a page, and only as far as your imagination.
Darling, it is time for you to live the life your imagination has developed every time you have made my acquaintance. Soon, you will move on to something… someone… who can offer you the love that you want. The love that you so truly deserve. I can see how badly your heart longs for it as you are staring into the unknown. This very moment may seem mind-boggling, as you are standing on the brink of what is, what could be, and what is not. In the meantime, I will lie here, stagnant in my sentences and wimpy pages, living the only love story I can imagine. The blank space between us feels as vast as any ocean, but I will gladly cross these boundless seas to find my way back to you.
It is time for you to exist beyond these pages and live a life that you truly adore. It will be lonely here without you, as it always is, but I trust that when the time is right, you will come home to me, and I can fall for you all over again. I find some solace in knowing that you have the privilege of reliving our story to an infinite extent by flipping back to page one. While I may inhabit a small paragraph of your life’s story, you have given so much meaning to mine.
You, dear reader, are my life’s story, and I am forever beholden to you.
I just want to thank you for coming back to me, reading each word again as if you were doing it for the first time. There are many chapters in a person’s life, and I am so grateful that you were patient enough to read mine. The impact that you left on me is indescribable. The way that you have graced my pages and consumed my words is something that I have never taken for granted. But, alas, the time has come in spite of it all. Go and live the life you always pictured when absorbing my words. I’ll be here if you need me.
We have reached the final sentence, dear reader, but fear not–this is just the beginning.