What happens when you fall in love with a writer?

Anything can happen.  You will be hurt, there’s no denying that. Whether it’s a permanent state of pain from a ghost like love or a temporary pain hinted with the rich taste of true love at the end. The latter, however, is rare. That’s the thing about writers; They are a box of surprise, a wrapped gift that you cannot shake to predict even the slightest guess of what’s inside. It’s shape and form and size changes from day to day, for some it may even occur numerous times during the day. They might stop talking to you when they find out that you don’t love coffee or you don’t love conversations that light up the soul or that you don’t know who Bukowski is. They might be there to cook you breakfast in bed, or they might be gone before the sunrise. Your eyes and body will become used to waking up to the sunrise alone after a night of amazing sex, the sun becomes the writers eyes you start to imagine, and the warmth from the sunlight replaces the warmth of a human’s skin, you have accepted this. You appreciate this, and why? Because winter is what you dread, the icy cold bed and dark sky is not what you look forward to spending time alone with. It’s nearly impossible to imagine in winter, it’s rather much easier when the sun is up. This is what it becomes, a relationship with a foundation of imagination to keep it alive. They might take you on the most romantic date you have ever been on your entire life then ignore you for days, weeks, months even. But it’s not his fault, he can’t feel. Everything he feels, he writes. His emotions belong on a paper, not to a woman. 

But what happens if a writer falls in love with you?

This is a little more predictable. You’ll be discovering a new window in the room you’ve lived in all your life - a child exposed to the elements of the truest kind of love. He’ll know the right things to say at all the wrong times. He’ll know your feelings, maybe in some cases more than you. He wouldn’t have to ask you if you’re mad, sad, or happy. He’ll know. He’ll take you on the trip to Europe even if he’s broke, because your dreams are equally valued with his existence. He would hardly initiate the act of sex, but it’s not because he’s not attracted to you. It’s because he could die happy just being there with you more than anything. He enjoys talking to you, holding you, and being near you. He’ll write about you, he’ll write to you. By then you start to become a character in his world. A woman he falls deeply in love with. Exaggerated to a point that you start becoming un-real. He then realizes he doesn’t love you anymore, he only loved this book. He got bored of it. It was finished, there was nothing left to read. The idea of being attached to one single human-being for the rest of his life scares the hell of him. It doesn’t mean he didn’t love you or was in love with you at one point though. People have one book of their lives, a writer has many. Out of no where he disappears, forever gone with the wind. You are left wondering why… 

Depending on how you look at it you will either be heartbroken or happy for the greatest memories of your life for falling in with a writer or having one fall in love with you.