Love With You Was Never Easy

Making dinner for tonight was easy. It was simple spaghetti and meatballs, with the special Italian flair my mother had breathed into me as I grew up. I added my Grandmother’s special seasoning, making every part of the sauce as perfect as can be. 

While I let that simmer, I went out into the spacious living room. Although I don’t remember how I came to pick this place, I knew it was my… home. I’ve always been here, but my past memories have clouded how I thought. I do not know why I picked this place, or why I decided to settle down in this town. I just did not know.

 I sat down on the tan couch - don’t know why I picked that either - and set the TV to play the golden classic Lady and the Tramp. Only the finest for an anniversary dinner with spaghetti, right?

I wouldn’t say I am a romantic, but the idea brought a smile to my face and a blush to my cheeks at the thought of how cheesy this was. 

I didn’t click play as the title screen entered my view though, I would wait until my spouse got home to do that. I sighed at the thought, but not in happiness or about the thought of them. I sighed at the thought of them, and that this wasn’t home.

I felt like I was in a bubble, one that the author of this story crafted into their perfect daydream. This would never be mine, but you probably already figured that out, haven’t you reader?

I see that surprised you, and yes, I know all about you.

Don’t be alarmed, I’m no creep. I just know you are there. I can see that you are reading this on a brightly lit screen, with a blanket huddled around you. Or is it just on your lap? I cannot tell. But I do know you are cozy while reading this, and that brings a smile to my face. 

I knew about you from the very beginning. I knew my fate - I knew what would come after the last word is written onto the page. I just did not think it was with someone like you. That is a compliment by the way, not a bad comment. I promise.

You know every part of my life, every detail, every feature of mine. You know so much about me because of the author who put me on this paper, who put me in this fantasy. You know so much about me because the author put me with the one person I’m not so sure I belong with. 

Maybe at first it was meant to be, but now I am not certain. I am not sure the author put me in the right world. 

I got up and went back to the kitchen, deciding to make some bruschetta while I waited for Lyre to get home. I cut up some french bread into thin slices and popped them into the oven, thinking over what else I could add to it. As it cooked I mixed together an abundance of ingredients that would top off the golden bread in the oven.

I began to think about you again. 

I know it’s crazy for me to, but I can’t help it. I can see the hope in your eyes, the curiosity about what is to come next. My actions may not be so anticlimactic, but my thoughts certainly are. I know your head works the same, doesn’t it? I can tell you are quiet, but there is more going on in your head than you could ever tell anyone. 

I can tell you’re deeply invested now. Who knew that a character would become so self-aware like this? I certainly didn’t know. But now that I do, I begin to wonder about what other books have had this same dilemma. Knowing they were in a world created out of someone's fictitious imagination.

But if you think about it, aren’t we all part of a world like that?

The oven chimed that the bread was done. I pulled it out carefully with red oven mitts and placed it on the counter, the scent of warm bread filling my senses. I closed my eyes and let myself become immersed in it, seeing as this might be the one time I ever get lost in something that is truly mine.

You are reading about me cooking and wandering around the house. I am becoming worried about you, reader. I am afraid you are so invested in my life, that you aren’t living yours. Get some sleep, I cannot tell the time where you are but I can tell you’re at least a little tired.

Could you do that for me? Could you promise me to sleep once you are finished? 

I know that may be selfish to ask, since I just asked you to sleep. Maybe this is the one time the author will allow me to be selfish. I want you to stay a little longer with me, if you could? I like having the company, and knowing someone out there knows every one of my flaws but reads on anyways. 

I find it flattering that you think of me that way. Sometimes it makes me jealous that I am here and you are there. You know every part of who I am, and I know so little about you. Yet, I seem to have some connection with you. Maybe I was put into the wrong universe, maybe I was meant to live in yours or you were meant to live in mine. Maybe then we could meet, and I could see the person who has spent all this time reading about me. Wouldn’t that be amazing?

I went to the cabinets and pulled out white plates with a blue and gold trim around it. Do you like blue and gold? I find it fancy - it makes me feel like royalty. Although I personally prefer silver over gold, I do not mind the soft and glimmering yellow set with the blue.

I set the table and placed gold forks and knives and spoons next to it. I don’t know where I had gotten these either, or when. It gave me one more reason to love your world, while I curse mine. The author chooses what is in my house, not me. The only thing I can choose is how I feel. That develops over time as the author gets to know me.

I am fond of one thing the author did. They brought me to you. You picked up my story to read, brought enough attention to it so you would want to read what I had been written into, the words twisting and curving over the page to form my reality.

There was not much left to do for dinner, so I walked the short distance from the table to the couch to wait for Lyre to get home. I sat down with a sigh and let myself think about you some more. It seems silly, but I find it peaceful to think about you.

You know, sometimes I curse the author for putting me in a collection of pages for all eternity. But in a way, it could be poetic. It just means that you can come back to me, and we can relive this moment as many times as you please. 

You can relive me falling in love.

I know how cliche this is. I barely know you whilst you know almost everything about me. You know about all my feelings… if only you could really feel them.

I’m not so sure I am happy here. Can you feel that? I hope the author does a good job of getting that point across. I think you know by now how much I would not mind being able to go to your world, and read stories alongside you about other adventures instead of being trapped here. 

I also find it kind of funny. You are out there, spending every day with someone, yet it is me you come back to every night to learn more about. I am not saying I am guessing your feelings, but I hope my guess is right. I want nothing more than to be right on that. 

I can tell we are nearing the end. Can you feel it as I can? Maybe not, but maybe you are coming to the realization of how this will be. I am stuck, forever printed out for you. I don’t mind - it means I get to spend eternity with you. 

I know the ending of our story has an ending, but I want you to know this. I will always be here, so we can start our adventure all over again. I can fall in love with you all over again and again, as many times as you would like. 

I hope you do come back to me. I hope the author wrote me well enough so that you can come back and relive this with me. 

I look over to the picture beside me - it was of Lyre and I on our wedding day. If only it was with the person reading this. Maybe then I could be truly happy.