#and i managed to pull my bsf into wanting to watch hannibal

[barredindawn]

A "love" letter.

Dear Will,

The past couple of days found me in my office and around people who do not do as much but speak their minds about matters that do not interest me... I jest in hopes to bring a smile to your face, one that I have not seen in a long while. Visitations would only be to my favor as you do not seem to be too disturbed to see others compared to me. That means that I affect you more than they do, does it not?

Tell me, dear Will, where do you go when you need a place of solitude? I suggest having your own memory palace as I have always done. Rooms filled with various items, artworks I admire endlessly on the walls of vast hallways, and places to rest in. Perhaps you had already done something similar. I am curious.

I often think of before. Others think of you as unstable and you extend it to being unlovable, desperate to still connect with them. People still care for you, Will. I am one of those people. Although, I have a limited number of ways to help you while you are gone. Can only wonder about what you really want as I know it is not company, too short, on the record for them to pick each word apart.

I know what I want. To be the coffee with your meals, no matter how lukewarm or tasteless it is. To be the low light that shines upon you, providing a sense of time. To be each shuddering inhale after you wake from a nightmare, the four corners that encompasses you, the quietest, most subtle, yet constant ring in your ear as you wade into your deepest thoughts.

Ah, it is but the most excruciating yet beautiful thing.

To have had you at your most vulnerable state and now, stripped bare of it by my own curious, trecherous hands.

I may have memorized every part of you, filling the gaps of it with a simple tinkering of mind. But it has not, have never felt, enough. A gnawing need for more.

Such a conflicting feeling within, yearning, that is. Deeply so that I cannot delight in it, threading words on paper instead. For whom I am doing for is uncertain.

Shall you read this letter at any point, know that I have bared a glimpse of myself to you. Only you.