Dear Authors,

 

I dream of your literature which keeps me up at night as I pore over each page, deciphering and synthesizing each phrase, detail, and word.

 

As your novels,

short stories,

and poems

 

greet my eyes in a steady stream, their goodbyes, brought on as I reach their final words, are rarely definite, for their intricacy grows in tandem with the noumenon responsible for my nature.

 

Endless stories run through my head, but find a home d e e p e r t h a n t h e p a g e s i n m y h a n d, coming to rest nestled in my heart to nourish my

 

existence.

 

I dream of the odysseys bestowed through your script that make me feel as though I have traveled the world we know and worlds unseen, experienced every loss and gain imaginable, felt every degree of each emotion, met a thousand e

n

d

 

s,

and lived a thousand lives.

 

Your strings of well-written words grant me a sort of catharsis that breaks through barriers of moments missed and my astronomical anticipation of vivid living. Characters w h i s p e r their secrets to me, a patchwork of their love, pain, triumph, failure, personal axioms, and fears, lending me experience and knowledge that surpass my young life.

I dream of your novels that give me the power to believe in a world much larger than my own.

Regrading the embedded ink,

 

I feel every synapse surging,

 

doors opening,

 

producing from dreams of written realities, so far yet so near, an impetus of fervor that calls me to e x p l o r e.

 

I dream of the world to be written.

 

To the authors,

 

thank y o u,

 

Sincerely,

 

 

                      me