To my dearest prince…


In a world where everything can be done with the click of a button, prepackaged, and automatically corrected, you are the string that keeps me from floating away.

You remind me that there is more meaning to life than the quantity of one’s Twitter followers.

You give me hope, and even a little bit of faith, in humanity, though not enough for me to abandon you and live fully in the real world.

You’re there for me at the turn of every page. You alone understand me in utter completion. Your unquestioning trust gratifies me.

When I’m scared, you reaffirm your role in my life and give me the courage to continue your story.

One word at a time.

We spent rainy days together, sharing our souls and teardrops and laughing words.

We share vanilla ice cream.

Your hugs, even phantom, are the best ones.

The noise that escapes your lips, it embodies gladness and mischief, and evokes gladness and mischief in me.

Arguing in the rain, the smell of autumn and frustration all around, because you, as always, are playing hero with your sword, wanting to run to battle and die for the sake of glory, without a second thought for how that would leave me.

But you’re so good at arguing. With your hands, your eyes, your pleas. I can’t stop you, I can’t control you. It’s all I can do to keep you alive, despite what a good ending your death would bring. You have your sword, I have my pen. Together we can save you.

Your thoughts are my thoughts, your feelings my feeling, your life my life.

I know more about you than you do. Likewise, you know more about me than I do. Unlike me, however, you keep your wise observations to yourself, while I bare your entire being for all this shallow world to see.

You, my friend, play an infinite number of roles in my life.

Kindred spirit, sister, brother, parent, lover, teacher, student, enemy, comrade.

Wrapped in dried ferns and wool blankets and oneness, there is no place I would rather be.

Without you, I’d be incomplete, missing something beautiful and cherished.

Real or not, your value to me is ridiculously high. Half the roles you are to me I’ve never experienced. Nearly all the roles I am to you are unknown things, things I’ve only read about in fairy tales, with pumpkin carriages and enchanted apples and fiercest dragons.

Be you dragon-slayer or gentle listener, friend in need or a barrel of laughs, you bind me to the world.

In the world, there are few things I know besides books and words and people who, like you, exist only in my mind or ink or memory.

Yet with your life coursing through my veins, into my hand and out of this pen, there is one thing that rings clear and loud, the song of hammer against anvil, whisper of secrets, rush of hands in hair:

True love, it does exist, and I’m sharing it with you.



An extraordinarily lucky writer.


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