You?

I... didn't dare to hope...

I didn't plan another story. I wanted to, it's just, people don't stick around for a second one. I'm sure I can pull something up. Have no fear!

I guess my next story is about nights. You know the nights I'm talking about. Not the ones where you fall asleep to the sounds of the breeze in the trees, or the sound of tires on wet pavement, but the ones where the tears on the pillow don't dry. I'm sorry, this is a depressing story, I shouldn't tell it.

But... it is me. And maybe it's you too? Yes, I see. Your pain is still there. I can see it in your eyes. Don't be self conscious, they are very lovely eyes. They remind me of stars. You know how simple they, the stars, seem far away? But when you get closer , you notice they are suns, warming the space around them for millions upon millions of miles. You just have to pay attention. Gee, your eyes are lovely.

The biggest disappointment for a child is to fall in love with the stars but then be confronted with how much math it requires to get anywhere near them. Thank goodness I am good at math.

Maybe we're from the same star... That's where we come from, right? Atoms from a far away explosion? Or maybe we were created? Whatever it is. It's brilliant to think that in the history of everything, we exist together.

The nights. I have those nights, where you shove the bed covers in your mouth so no sound can get out. Which only makes things more complicated, you know, when everything gets slobbery. But those are the nights I mean. Blubbery, weeping nights. I hate them. But sometimes... it's the only time I feel deeply.

Why do you cry? I... can't even fathom why someone so beautiful would feel the need to cry. Where does the pain from behind your eyes come from?

I'm sorry. I get too personal. It's not even personal at this point, probably creepy.

I like the nights where I don't think, when sleep overtakes me like a wave, crushing me in slumber. But sometimes the wave drags you against the rocks, skin scraping and arms windmilling around you, clutching at nothing. You're out of control and there is nothing to grab on to because you're alone. I hate being alone. I haven't been since you've been here, thank you. When you're gone, my world is dark. There is no story unless you're here to hear.

I hope you feel the same. I'm here, whenever you need me. On those tear-soaked nights, when your skins itches from hot tears. I'll be waiting to comfort you. I wish I could hold you.

Nights are tough, when you sit there, darkness swallowing you, overwhelmed by things you wished you didn't think about. But it is nice, to feel. Sometimes, I get enveloped in a sentence and feel like I'm drowning in words. I don't enjoy it, per se, it's just, I like the quiet reminders that my heart does more than pump blood. It can feel.

This is just a story, and I'm just the book. But you, my beautiful reader, you are...

I have all the words in the world at my tongue but there is nothing that adequately describes the you-ness of you.

I'm here.