When I write for you I feel invincible, but that only lasts as long as it takes to finish. Then comes the apprehension of my finger hovering over the button to click send.
I take a deep breath and hold.
Now comes the waiting. My invincibility is gone and I’m surrounded by weakness and inadequacy. I’m terrible. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said I would do that for you. I didn’t edit it so please take that into account. The words I wrote for you felt so strong when they leaped from my fingers to the screen and now they are not even close to good enough for you.
Never once did you return a negative word. I could easily say you were just being nice but then you’d ask for more. Again and again. You’d be excited to read what I wrote for you and would edge me on to continue. I’d considered quitting my job and spending hours a day holed up in a room with a small window for light as I wrote for you. You drove me into madness and I spilled that insanity onto the screen. I handed it back to you with my heart and you kissed it every time.
I love you. It’s the only way I could write like that for anyone, by being in love with them.
I would write for you until the end of time. I would make your character iconic. The sexual dynamo that would be the envy of all. The girl would become synonymous with sexy, smart and silent. You’d be a pop culture phenomenon.
I want to write tomes dedicated to you. Books of poetry with your name scrawled across the front. Series of literature focused on you. The Dulcinea of my life. I will sally forth in search of adventure to claim it in your name.
Everything I do is for you because of the way you make me feel while I’m doing it. I hope some day I can give that feeling to you. It’s such an incredible high I want you to be able to experience it.