Fictional Characters // Bookish Ramblings
I do not own any of these pictures
Disclaimer: If you copy and or steal any of the writing content, I would hate (adore a little too much) to sync a battalion of fire breathing dragons on you. Oh! And I will go all Karate Kid on you. <3 Love y'all!🙂
But I know y'all won't do that, so we're all good.
Also, the Booktastic army will be there too.
For a little background, this is how I personally feel about fictional characters. How much I love them, how I would die for them, etc. in an extremely dramatic way. ✨
Kind of like forbidden lovers.
I wish you would think me real.
Thinking of me like I read of you. Feverishly, frantically, searching for hidden meanings in sighs and words whispered beneath the blanket of moonlight. I hope you can notice how my fingers softly trace every inch of every page you appear on, trying to find what makes you tick, and how to become the clockmaker myself. I crave to know if you can feel how I ache to turn every chapter, passionately sipping on the inky trail of messages you scrawl with your voice and thinking patterns. I would like to think that you can feel the extent of the adoration I carry dutifully for you, bending my head under the strain of so many passages left without a doorway in the story you have been born in.
I like to imagine that just like I see you and feel every emotion you try to hide from even yourself, you can tell I'm longing for your otherworldly touch and papery scent. I clutch my chest all the times that I feel even a twinge of pain coming from you, did you know that? That when you were falling for someone of your own world, someone you could smell and sense and... do so many things with, I was here. In a dimension where we would not be able to cross paths, let alone a few wisps of words. Listening with rapt attention, noticing every shake of your inhales as you described your lover's beauty. I stood ignored, unheard, as if I didn't exist for you. Even when my skin bleeds for you, you are blind. You look at her with every inch of adoration you could not see from me.
Every paragraph, every letter, every single moment you appear, reminds me of how much I wish... you could think me real.
Because I know that someplace, your heart beats and thrives, your eyes glance and your skin shivers, but my heart knows you do not think the same of me.
You cannot think the same of me.
Because what would be of my heart if you could?
We would be torn lovers,
yearning for each other through a barricade of well-placed endings and epilogues.