Dear Imaginary Reader,

It’s been a long time since I last spoke to you directly. But there
is no space for misunderstandings between us. I know you’ re listening. You know I’m always writing with you in mind. Even though you keep changing, constantly eluding my attempts to
paint a clear picture of you.

In the beginning, you were simply the ghost of an impression- or the impression of a ghost. So vague, that it was hard for me to sustain this supposed exchange of words. Then, suddenly, you became all too recognizable. And, like most fictional characters, you were more effective when based on a real person. As I struggled to monopolize your attention, I grew restless. Inventive. Obsessed. Your presence inspired and limited me. I’d keep coming up with new ideas. I was stuck in the realm of what I thought would please you.

Lately, I’ve been watching you undergo another transformation. You’re losing touch with reality. But then again, you still bear a resemblance to something…tangible. You’re more mysterious, yet somehow you don’t scare me as much as before. I’m not afraid of your judgment; I don’t think you will ever lose interest in me.

You see, we are one, you and I. You only exist in my head. I only exist in your shadow. And I’ll never have to worry about rejection; failure; the harsh comments of a critical audience. Loneliness will fail every time she tries to weave her seductive web around my soul. For we love her, don’t we? She is the middle link in an unbreakable chain. Without her, our connection would be lost, our shared vision forsaken, as we’d sink helplessly in the thick liquid of contentment and idleness and banality.