Do you know that all authors are lunatics? What? You don’t know? Well, they are. Believe me. And do you know what’s worst? They’re also schizoid, but of course… nobody would tell that to their face, because they seems to be normal most of the time. They look like normal people, but their head… gosh…is a complete mess!
I’m an author, and you know what that makes me? A lunatic schizoid who is in charge of her own asylum. But… sometimes…this lunatic lost control over her asylum and they go berserk on her. She found little monsters and scary undead dragons stampeding around pretty often while she’s writing, and sometimes, she don’t know how to put them back in order, because they simply won’t listen to her ranting and mad ravings.
Being an author also means that apart from needing to have a rein on your asylum, you would need to have chemistry with your creation too, or things would never work out between you and your characters. 🙁 As of late, I discovered that I somewhat fell out of love with the main male character and the main female character of my story, and the supporting characters outshine my main character. I can’t connect with my main characters. They became lame and boring, and unresponsive. They make me feel like knocking my own head to the wall. Either that, or shake them til they rattle and talk to me again!
The supporting characters on the other hand became more defined, more strong, more enigmatic and more…romantic, and they seems to be developing a universe of their own and I don’t know how that actually happened, but it happened, and it’s driving me insane and I have to talk about it or someone will get hurt!
Oh God, the supporting characters are taking over the storyline! It’s really getting out of hand, and everything is upside down!
*sobs* I like to write about certain characters, because I feel for them deeply and passionately. They seduced me with their charisma, and they make me want to write more about them.
Some of them really could interact with me… sometimes I could have sworn that the character in question is telling me this :
“Ms. Author, let’s go out on a date, you look so irresistibly beautiful today. By the way, you ought to make me look hotter and give me steamier scenes. Make make me a hero instead of the other wimpy guy. Come now, baby, give me the sword… or a gun, or a weapon of your choice. You know you want to do it.” *slaps forehead*
God, they’re not supposed to be able to do that. I am their creator! They should listen to me and do as I say, not make me do what they want me to do. I created them. I should be able to control them not the other way around. But no… the bloody characters tempt me, tease me and leave me breathless til I could not deny them any longer.
Oh, scroo it! My life is so twisted. Fine. I give up. Have your ways with me, Reeves, you win. I’m your bloody slave, and you get to have a whole novel to yourself with a kingdom laid at your feet, and I’ll make Isabelle Hart your sweetheart too. Would you like me to toss in some sports car too while I’m at it?Grrr. Are you satisfied now? Okay, leave me alone already. GRRR.
Cleffairy: Go on, go on, leave me breathless.Tempt me, tease me, til I can’t deny this…
ps: My only consolation to all of this insanity is that God couldn’t stop Adam and Eve from eating the forbidden apple. If God can’t stop Adam and Eve, what makes me think that I can control my creations? I’m just human. I guess it’s forgivable.
I made 3 phone calls today. One to my aunt, one to my mother, and another to my father. 2 of the phone calls made me feel so horrible, causing me to make another phone call. 🙁 Guess whom was the last one I called just to make myself feel better again? *sigh*
Yes, that’s right. The last phone call was to my father. Why? Cuz both my aunt and my mum kinda make me feel bad inside to the point that I feel like I wanna throw up!
I feel like crying. I wanted to cry, but I won’t let myself. I won’t allow myself to be wallowed by self pity and self-disgust…. especially when my bloody other half is being nonchalant about this freaking issue. Maybe I should just take up shooting and shoot something to vent my frustration. 🙁 I feel so trapped and abused. Yes, that’s right. Abused. And also used… and also unappreciated… and the list goes on!
To cut the long story short… I made a phone call to my aunt, who is just 1 year older than me, to congratulate her on being pregnant. Then all the bloody nonsense when I’m going to have a baby and blah blah blah started. I was really happy, truly, that she’s being pregnant and all… but does she have to ask me a lot of personal questions that I don’t feel like answering?
*sigh* I avoided her question like a plague, and and made a promise that I don’t really tend to keep, which is to… uh… visit her when she finally give birth… cuz I kinda hate being around relatives who loves to get on my nerves by asking me personal questions and those showing off and stuff.
You see… I’m not really successful in life, and I wonder if I ever will be. I am not rich, and I don’t exactly reproduce like some sort of a pig either… so yeah… you get the picture, why I don’t like to be around relatives. They simply poke their noses in places that they’re not supposed to.
After successfully ending the conversation with my oblivious Aunt, I called my mother, whom I haven’t talk to for quite some time now. You know… call her just to ask if she’s all right and whatnot. BIG MISTAKE.
Of course she’s all right. She’s always all right. She almost NEVER fall sick. 🙁 Not that I’m saying I wish that she gets sick… I’m just saying that sometimes, I feel really uncomfortable talking to her, because she likes to… uh… gossip, and… like those people in my life… she loves to… compare me with others, even when I’m all grown up. I can’t relate to her, and she doesn’t understand me. She loves to socialize with relatives, much to my chagrin.
She loves going to the weddings, baby showers and funeral( Good Lord… I don’t know if anybody can enjoy a funeral, but obviously, my mother can). Fine. She likes family occasion. That is none of my business. But I don’t feel comfortable at all when she tells me how big their weddings are, and how wonderful their baby showers are…she always says them in a tone that’s hinting me something, and I loathe it so, so much.
Why can’t she just let me off, and leave me alone? I am not interested in joining her and make a court jester out of myself at these family occasions.
I never failed to feel bad each time my mother talked to me about those stuff. Talking… is still tolerable… why can’t she understand that I have no interest in taking part in those things that she’s so fond of? 🙁
I’m not interested to go to relatives’ wedding. I don’t want to go to relatives’ baby showers… and I don’t want to go to funeral too. Why? Because people just won’t mind their own business and ask ME personal question that I considered as invasion of privacy!
It is sooooooooo difficult. No offense… but I kinda hate female relatives and outlaws who are in their 50s. I can’t relate to them, and they’re pretty…what’s the word? OBNOXIOUS.
I felt sooo sooo bad, and knowing that my husband would brush me off when I talk about these stuff…you know… relatives’ wedding, baby showers and whatnot…my husband is never interested in listening to such things and so I called up THE ONLY PERSON who WILL ALWAYS listened to me, regardless of how silly I may sound- MY FATHER.
I called him up, and he was still at work. He told me that he was in front of the PC, finishing up some work, and so I told him that I will call back later when he’s not busy, but thank God he said that it’s all right and refused to let me hang up.
He asked me if I’m all right. And of course…I kinda lied him. I told him I’m fine, just a bit stressed about work and whatnot. The usual. He must be sensing that I’m upset… cuz he asked if I’m feeling well. So I told him… I don’t know if I’m feeling well… I’m feeling feverish… must be the weather and I just call to hear his voice and to ask if he’s doing okay.
But my father knew me very well and bombed me. “Did you happen to call your mother?” he asked.
I broke down at this point. I said yes, and I blahs to him, telling him that my mother had been at it again, asking me to go to places I don’t want to and telling me who and who is getting married, and who and who is having baby showers, and who and who is so pretty and practically glowing… and also about so and so who is just promoted and whatnot.
I told him I don’t want to go back to those family occasions… because I feel that no matter how successful I am in life… people would still judge me on how well-married I am and how many pooping and wailing brats I have~! And people are more interested in how many times I get laid a week more than what I’ve worked so hard to build! It sickens me to the very core. 🙁
While other people in my life would have probably reprimand me for being so reserved and refused to socialize with gossiping bimbos at this point, my father didn’t accuse me of that. He listened sympathetically and told me that he didn’t fancy family occasion too, and if I don’t want to, I don’t have to go back and face those people who doesn’t mind their own business.
I told him that I missed him. And the only reason why I wanted to go back for the holidays is just because I wanted to see him. 🙁 Even if people around me hurt me badly and made me feel inferior with their words, I still want to see him and have a good time together. I missed talking to him, I missed being understood and I especially missed being taken seriously.
I heard clicks of the keyboard at this point. And after a few seconds… my father told me…that perhaps, he could make some arrangements and come to visit me instead… he didn’t promise me… he said he would try to make arrangements to visit me instead.
And you know what? That alone makes me feel a lot better, even if he can’t manage to come and visit me during the holidays. Those words… those words alone made me feel loved, protected and and cherished. Those words made me feel important too. And… for now, those are enough for me. Even if he can’t manage to come and visit me… I feel better already… with just his words…my father… he made me feel better… by just listening and assuring me that he loves me regardless of how people think of me.
Cleffairy: Breathing is difficult, especially when people are trying their best to suffocate you. And here’s ‘How Can You Mend a Broken Heart’ by Bee Gees.
How Can You Mend A Broken Heart
I can think of younger days when living for my life
Was everything a man could want to do.
I could never see tomorrow, but I was never told about the sorrow.
And how can you mend a broken heart?
How can you stop the rain from falling down?
How can you stop the sun from shining?
What makes the world go round?
How can you mend a this broken man?
How can a loser ever win?
Please help me mend my broken heart and let me live again.
I can still feel the breeze that rustles through the trees
And misty memories do days gone by
We could never see tomorrow, noone said a word about the sorrow.
And how can you mend a broken heart?
How can you stop the rain from falling down?
How can you stop the sun from shining?
What makes the world go round?
How can you mend this broken man?
How can a loser ever win?
Please help me mend my broken heart and let me live again.
Have you ever want something or someone to love you so badly, but the love is unrequited? You gave all of your heart to that person, but your love is unreturned?
You love them, and waited for them with all of the devotion that you have… you wait and wait, and nothing happens, and then, one day… you stopped hoping, though you continued loving.
Time passes by. You stopped wanting anymore. You feel numb, you’re hurting inside and you desperately need to move on, and decided that it’s all right. It doesn’t matter anymore. If the person you love doesn’t return your feelings, you think that it’s time to let someone else… someone else who have been waiting for you to let you into their life for almost as long as you wait for the one you love to return your feelings.
It won’t be the same… to just receive love…but it would have been better that way, won’t it? You can try loving the one who love you, though you have no feelings for that person.
And then…the thing you have been waiting for happened. The person you loved… started to see something in you, and started to return your feelings. But it’s too late now…you fell in love with another, because ‘the other person’ whom was never your first choice is now the love of your love, and means everything to you.
Have you ever felt that way… how funny and ironic love is? Have you… ever felt like Joni…feel that one day, you’ll stop hoping and move on, because you can’t wait forever, and life goes on?
DON’T CRY JONI
(Conway Twitty)
Conway Twitty & Joni Lee – 1975
Margo & Daniel O’Donnell – 2006
Joni was the girl who lived next door
I’ve known her, I guess, ten years or more
Joni wrote me a note one day
And this is what she had to say
(JONI:)
(Jimmy, please say you’ll wait for me)
(I’ll grow up someday you’ll see)
(Saving all my kisses just for you)
(Signed with love forever true)
Slowly I read her note once more
I went over to the house next door
Her teardrops fell like rain that day
When I told Joni what I had to say
Joni, Joni please don’t cry
You’ll forget me by and by
You’re just fifteen, I’m twenty-two
And Joni, I just can’t wait for you
Soon I left our little home town
Got me a job and tried to settle down
But those words kept haunting my memory
The words that Joni wrote to me
(JONI:)
(Jimmy, please say you’ll wait for me)
(I’ll grow up someday you’ll see)
(Saving all my kisses just for you)
(Signed with love forever true)
I packed my clothes and I caught a plane
I had to see Joni, I had to explain
How my heart was filled with her memory
And ask my Joni if she’d marry me
I ran all the way to the house next door
But things weren’t like they were before
My teardrops fell like rain that day
When I heard what Joni had to say
(JONI:)
(Jimmy, Jimmy please don’t cry)
(You’ll forget me by and by)
(It’s been five years since you’ve been gone)
(And Jimmy, I married your best friend John)
Don’t Cry Joni is a very old song, and I used to sing this with my father when I was just a little girl. Thinking back… I wonder if he’s trying to teach me about how love doesn’t always turn out the way we wanted them to, and there’s always surprises when it comes to love?
Cleffairy: Jimmy, Jimmy please don’t cry. You’ll forget me by and by. It’s been five years since you’ve been gone. And Jimmy I married your best friend John.
I’m in an extremely foul mood. Ask me why. Read the title of my article: No courtesy, poor upbringing.
I am crabby enough these few days, considering that the Temple near my house is blasting the damn speaker at full scale, enough to wake the dead for the Hungry Ghost festival, causing me to have intense migraine that no bloody soul on the face of this damn Earth is sympathetic to. I COULDN’T SLEEP. And I want to puke at the throbbing sensation that I felt on my right forehead, trailing down to my temple. NASTY, and I’m definitely on my MURDEROUS MODE. Don’t you dare tell me to pop a few paracetamol in my mouth. Nothing short of a morphine could get rid of the damn pain I’m feeling.
That… I can still deal with. After all, I’ve been dealing with this for years. Especially during those noisy Chinese festival where they got nothing to do that sing all night long or burn fireworks all night long.
But what I couldn’t exactly deal with is some phone call about 3am in the morning, asking my husband to go out immediately or something of that sort, causing all hell to break loose in my house. Read: the brat, waling and shouting his head off cuz he saw the father left the house at 3am in the morning, attracting the wrath of the slumbering neighbours who came knocking at my damn door, wondering if I’m murdering my own child. Right at the moment, I’m just so glad that I am not some hero wannabe’s neighbour. I shudder to think a hero wannabe bashing me up and dragging me to the police station for thinking that I’ve been abusing my child just because the brat couldn’t keep his mouth shut!
I wouldn’t exactly mind if phone call from Mr.F is a state or emergency or something, needing help for his dying wife or daughters or even people raping his mother… it’s still worth the trouble, but I don’t appreciate people persistently request my husband to step on the pedal immediately just to help him fix some mess he did with his computer….yes… I DON’T appreciate people calling the man way after midnight, asking him to go out to fix some shitty technical mess, consequently leaving me to deal with the mess at home at an ungodly hour.
Bloody hell, I had enough noises to deal with during the day… and now I have to deal with noises and complaints at night too? Do I look like some sort of a rock or something?
I’m really pissed. It’s as if my husband has nothing better to do but oblige to apple polish them! Gee…that feller is just an ex neighbour… whom in my opinion, always behave like an empty vessel that make most noise. NATO kinda guy.
From my observation all these years…he’s never the first to appear when others are in trouble. I could still remember when there’s a feud between one lady called Ms. R regarding a community library issue with a group of mobster. This NATO feller along with some men were doing what at that time? Drinking tea, and yakking away at the mamak stall across the street, though he was well informed of the incident between Ms. R and those ruthless mobsters. Not man enough to get involve, huh? And letting the old lady fend for herself against those mobsters. He and a group of of his NATO gang only appeared AFTER the not so friendly event occurred.
My oh, my….the mess that he did must have involved some sort of national security that he needs my husband’s help so desperately at such an ungodly hour!
Considering the importance of someone’s role in my life, and my husband’s life….not even my father dares to call me at such an ungodly hour. Nothing short of a notification of a next kin’s death would take him to call me at that hour! I wonder why almost everyone in my husband’s life is quite oblivious to their timing?
I don’t know. Perhaps those people that my husband has the misfortune to be acquainted with is just ill mannered, inconsiderate, have no courtesy and lack of proper upbringing by their parents.
That’s my only logic. Why? Their parents never actually taught them enough manners to ask for help for non-life threatening issue during decent hours! And I’m not just talking about this Mr. F either.
Cleffairy: I owe my own father more than a million bucks for raising me. But even then… if my father is to call me for some technical difficulties at 3am in the morning, I would tell him to go back to sleep and wait til the decent hour for his problems to be fixed!
Who would be, on your death notification list when you expires? I mean…if you’re to die or something, you wouldn’t want your dead body to rot somewhere in the middle of nowhere or in the morgue’s refrigerator for that matter. You would want to be buried, cremated, mummified… or something wouldn’t you? And you can’t possibly be doing all of those things to yourself when you’re dead, can you?
Have you ever thought… who would be writing your obituary? Who would be celebrating your life when you’re gone? Who would remember you when you’re six feet under? Who would inherit your stuff… etc etc etc.
Who would be on your death notification list if you’re to expired? My list would probably look like the one below:
1. My next kin… you know… the usual… the husband…if he’s still living when I died, that is… my parents( if they don’t die before me), my brat(s) (if they survived me when I died)sister, cousins, bla bla bla.
2. My insurance agent, the casket company…the gravedigger…
3. My friends in the newspaper…so that they could write flattering obituary for me for free.
4. My friends…. though I don’t quite see the point of upsetting my good friends for being expired.
5. My enemies (well, they ought to be forewarned that I’ll come back to haunt the for the things that they did to me when I was still alive)
Sigh… what the hell… just 5 kind of people on my list. What the hell…so less people in my life?I wonder if I’ll be forgotten within 7 days of my death. I’m so insignificant. I wonder, who would be on your list if you’re to expire? More than me, I hope.
Cleffairy: I’m making a list, I’m checking it twice… to see who have been naughty and nice….you better not cry, you better not pout, cuz the Hungry Ghosts are coming, to town~!
ps: Did you know? Even a broken clock is right twice a day.
Don’t even ask if I’m all right. I am a mad, always angry, lunatic fairy. I’m not sweet and docile, likeable, normal person. Since when I’m all right and normal, anyway? The world drives me crazy, and the only thing one, hyper 25 years old girl could do on a perfectly good, sunny Sunday when she’s all locked up staring at the four white walls of her damn prison other people told her it’s her home can do was think about Christmas, Santa, and Superman. (Yes, Superman again… what’s with me and Superman, anyway? I got to do a case study on myself soon! I’m practically crazy!)
TICK TOCK TICK TOCK. It’s just 4:23PM, 8th August 2010, Sunday
*groan* It’s not even November yet (which saddens me, cuz it’s not NaNoWriMo yet, and I don’t have a bunch of authors going crazy on a literary rampage with me) and I found myself thinking about Christmas already. Been looking up for Christmas songs and having the urge to greet people Merry Christmas and eating Christmas dishes. You know… the roasted chicken or turkeys, the pastas, the pastries, with a partridge on the Christmas tree. Must be the potluck withdrawal I’m having. 🙁
Oh, jolly… I finally lost it~! I think I can hear someone out there telling me to go and join those loon of Elvis and Micheal Jackson in the asylum. I need a horseback riding theraphy…. a few good games of bowling…and a few bloody round of archery, but the closest thing I can get to those damn therapy is just to ‘live’ them through my novel characters- a novel that I have yet to find the momentum to write again. Oh, that’s just so pathetic. 🙁 Muse, Muse, please come back to me. I need you, desperately. Inspire me again so that my readers over here will be spared from my lunacy.
My life sucks. I can almost see myself being bound and chained. Bloody shits, stinking pee, you name it! 🙁 A complete waste of my already goddamn short life.
Santa, can you hear me? I want to go flying all night long and travel the world. I don’t want to die, trapped in this damn shit-hole… where all I did was stay in front of the PC slaving away to earn measly bits day in, day out. I want to leave a legacy! THIS is not the life I wanted. It’s not what I imagined myself to be 10 bloody years ago! I imagined myself to be a doctor… or a journalist traveling the world, sampling what the world could offer me. Argh…. free me, somebody! SOOOOOOOOO DAMMMMMNNNN BORRRRRREEEEDDD!
Santa, can you hear me? I have been so good this year…I have yet to murder people who stepped on my tail… all I want for Christmas this year is a goddamn break from this damn prison. I want to go to the beach…collect seashells, go fishing, riding the horse for a stroll along the beach and swim and eat seafood at some fisherman village til I got sick with allergy!
Santa can you hear me? Next month would be my bloody birthday. Ohhh…good, say you? Oh, geez… I’ll be grateful enough if people even remember it this year and nobody screw it up for me again. Could you send some of your Terminator Elf for me to use? In case it’s like last year again? I would be eternally grateful if you would.
Santa, can you hear me? I’ve been soooooo good this year. I have yet to seek revenge and return the favour to those who made my life miserable and made me suffer for things that’s not even my freaking fault in the first place. (Yadda, yadda… who can tolerate being the receiver of people’s emotional tantrums anyway? I bet you can’t too)Â So, Santa, can you make sure that my life won’t be so boring next year?
I need to live my life, talk with people instead of just listening to what people want to do and having a one sided conversation resulting me to zone out every now and then. That makes me feel brain-dead, you know? *SIGH* Where the hell is those jerks of boys when I need them most? The tease me, but at least they cheer me up. 🙁 They don’t bore me.
Santa can you hear me? All I want for Christmas this year… is just an exciting life that doesn’t confine me into just staying at home, day in day out. Can you put it underneath my Christmas tree for me? Oh please, Santa, make my wish come true. I’ll be waiting here, and that’s my only wish this year. 😀
Cleffairy: When Clark Kent disappear or don’t keep his promises, I know he have a very good reason. He’s out saving the world as Superman. Others… don’t break promises or stood me up because they’re out there somewhere, busy being Superman and saving the world!
Note: Wrote this not so agreeable article with 825 words within 8 minutes. That a new record. So… anyone for a word sprint? 😀
I adore you, and I have been in love with you for as long as I could remember. I was only a little girl when I first saw you, and I admire you not for just who you are, but for what you stood for. You’re not just an ordinary hunk, but a chunk of rock that the world could lean on. You stood for justice and truth. Something that is so, very rare today.
I used to be infatuated with your alter ego, Superman. Yes, Clark. Don’t be so surprised. I know who you are. I know Superman is the man behind the spectacles. I have been fooled for a couple of years, thinking that both of you are somewhat different entity, but I see now.
You’re the same man. I am not exactly galactically stupid, you see. You may present yourself as a mild mannered reporter for the entire world to see, but I know that in truth, you’re also the man who dares to wear blazing red underwear outside of your outfit, and make it a fashion statement.
That kind of courage is something every men should learn, seriously. It is not easy to wear something awfully stupid like that in public, and yet people still dare not laugh to your face. That simply scream ‘dare to be different’, or ‘be yourself’.
I adore you, Clark. Not because you have super powers or because you leap off the building at every distant S.O.S you heard. I adore you because of the things you cannot do.
I cannot imagine how hard it is for you to be two people at the same time, and how hard it is for you when you can’t answer every single calls for help, and how it quietly tears you apart. It must be hard, isn’t it? Enduring the emotional pain all by yourself while carrying the weight of the world on your shoulder.
I know how tormented you must have felt. Despite that, you still go around telling people that everything will be all right. You have assured the whole world, and offer the world comfort when it needed you most, but… I wonder, who comforted you when you needed it most? You may be the man of Steel, but… I daresay that your heart is made of flesh and blood.
You have so many secrets…and I didn’t just mean Clark=Superman. You must have felt awfully lonely,haven’t you, Clark? You have no choice but to keep everyone at bay, so that you can protect your anonymity and to protect your loved ones too from those awful supervillians.
They can’t possibly kill you without Kryptonite, but they could definitely kill your loved ones without Kryptonite.
Supervillians are all the same. If they can’t get you, they’ll hurt your loved ones, and that’s no consolation price either. And I shudder at the thought that they could actually turn your loved ones into your enemies by just using some alien technology and make them kill you slow and bloody! That…is a fate that I think I wouldn’t even wish upon my greatest enemy. It’s ultimate cruelty.
I understand that anonymity always walks hand in hand with privacy. That is why I valued both of it so much now. Seriously speaking, I hope… it shan’t be destroyed.
I can relate to you, Clark. I am a little bit like you. I have dark secrets, and I sometimes live a lie, deceiving the whole world into thinking that I am fine when I am not. And like you, I have the conscience to offer comfort to those who needed it even when I find myself being abandoned when I needed it the most. More often than not, I have to stand up for myself, and battle my own fights all alone, just like you. Like you, being me would mean a solitary life. And like you too, being me would mean that nobody would protect me from harm.
Being Superman means that you cannot be selfish and do things as you pleased because the world depends on you. I’m like that too sometimes. Life is not just about me alone. I wish it is all about me, sometimes, though. I bet you felt the same.
I love you… not because you are perfect, but because you are imperfect and you have alot of weaknesses. But your weaknesses never stopped you from going on and on. That’s what makes you the hero of my dreams. In my eyes, nobody have the perseverance like you, or stronger than you…not in term of strength, but in terms of mentality.
I wonder how many times you have been hurt and almost killed by the Kryptonite by your enemies? I think you have lost count of it, and yet, that doesn’t stop you from saving the world over and over again. Nothing stops you from getting back on your feet, no matter how hard it is for you. That is really admirable, Clark. I wish everyone is as strong as you. You may be an alien from a long destroyed planet. But in truth, you’re a man more than other men in this world.
Women all over the world must have lusted over you because you’re so hot, virile, handsome and powerful. You could have had any women you wanted. I really do admire you for being true to your one and only. How many men these days can do that? I think not many. Such men… are at the brink of extinction.
It’s going to sound really weird, but you inspire me, Clark. And because of you, I am what I am today. You inspired me to be a reporter and a writer, and you taught me that love must be unconditional and never asking anything in return. Love is just… love. Love is giving, never expecting anything in return.
Truthfully, you are responsible for what I am today.
Each time I feel lost… and alone, I thought of you. And each time I thought of you, I don’t feel alone anymore. Thank you, Clark, for being there when I needed you most. For restoring hope each time I lost it.
I’m no longer the little girl in pigtails who dreamed to be a journalist and maybe one a day novelist. I’m all grown up now, and at some point, I was a journalist, then a novelist. You helped me make my dreams come true by showing me your life. Your life as Clark Kent in the Daily Planet inspired me.
I’m married now. I used to dream of marrying you, Clark but you’re unreachable. You’re in a fantasy world, you’re not quite real, but you’ll always have a part of my heart that belongs to no other… because you’re an alien known as Kal-el, because you’re Superman, and just because you are Clark Kent. You inspired me and you gave me hope. You made it possible for me to hang on and to achieve what I wanted to achieve.
