Hiraeth
You know imagination isn't wrong to explore. I merely looked at a man on the television and fell in love with him. Tsk. sounded more funny than I intended it to. But yeah something similar happened to me.
Loneliness shackled arms found an invisible soul with the face of an idol. Kim Tristan. A boy so beautiful, a boy so feminine but stern like a masculine, held himself like a masculine, but his eyes fluttered like a feminine woman, a boy so delicate yet so much rock solid in chest that I found myself drowning in illusion. An illusion of something so beautiful attached to me in the end. I asked God for the impossible.
I desired for an impossible myth, a myth so falsely true that it shattered my entire soul. I kept looking at him everyday, thinking, imagining how a man can be this beautiful, his voice, velvety, and thick. Covered with moles, I thought I was the only one casting an evil eye on him, because I looked at him, stared at him more than I should have. I entered a maze, just like Jessica did, but the difference was I fell in love with a celebrity just looking at him, and it isn't possible to fall in love isn't it?
I overthink so much, I thought so much, but I started writing about him, about an illusionary body who embraces me in my loneliness, loneliness caused me delusions, but oh my my, did I love it that much. I started writing a book named like sunflowers to the sun (I'd turn at you) I started writing letters to a stranger, a complete different soul which made me feel a lot of things just by looking, I am not lying, my body shivered every time I thought of him, everytime I looked at him, something was so powerful and that it hit me, but before I could understand I fell in love, I was bashed again to the reality that this is impossible, my brain was already a mess, I shouldn't be writing, but I did, and I wrote so many letters, making scenarios of us, of him loving me back, when a girl is mentally that much unstable, she could make stories to just escape and I did too. I wanted to run away from my brothers' house and writing was pretty much the only way, I kept writing and writing and the words left easily from my fingers. I wrote mercilessly regarding just that one man, a celebrity, an unconditionally brash delusional of mine. I wrote more than I wanted.
I regarded him as the sun, because he is a sun, a glazed warm pit of fire which will burn if I go close. He glistens with lights, eyes so dark brown like an ocean of red blood, I felt dread entering my body when I described a man so in detailed in my letters, I never met him, I never seen him up close how can I describe a man that beautifully, was I obsessed, but for how many years? 1, 2? 4? Never. I wrote about that man for 4 years and I never knew I would be writing about him for decades now. He is beautiful.
I wanted to relieve my thinking so I created stories in my mind, and lived there. I ruined my imaginations.
But it all started when imaginations of mine became reality and a sun eyed boy fell in love with me.