I write of you in fiction, for fiction is all I've ever really had of you. Breif entropies into fantasy. Short stories, a beginning, the breif development of a plot, and an abrupt and unsatisfying ending. When I think of you, it is the idea of you, the ideal you. Not your ideal you, of which I cannot fathom, but my idea of you. The parts my subconscious makes up, to fill in the empty spaces, of which I know nothing. I dream of a you that can warp time, trancend worlds, and unlock the meaning of life. You are Pandora, for I have a sneaking suspicion, that if opened and made real, you could very well destroy me. Just that, a bite of flesh, a painful chewing, and I would be swallowed up forever. That is how I write of you, in fiction .
