Postcards.

“Stop being so harsh on yourself for once. I cannot see you sulking all the time. Sorrow isn’t supposed to be your friend. Let it go.” she said looking at him.

“Only if that was so easy. I wouldn’t be here writing poetry about people who don’t exist. My world works in a different way. I’m looking for something that doesn’t exist.” he said looking at the floor.

“And, what about the ones who exist? Do we mean nothing to you? Look at me. Do I mean anything at all?” she asked him while holding his hands.

“I don’t know what you mean to me. But, I know one thing for sure that you’re the closest I’ve gotten to the fiction I create. You’re the character I might fall in love with.” he said looking into her eyes.

“Is that a problem?” she asked leaning forward.

“All my stories have an end. I don’t want you to be a part of it.” he said and gently kissed her.

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