Daniel is not real. She wrote him into being, brought him to life in her journal. She gave him intelligence and a keen sense of humor. She limned his eyes, his lips, his body in words. And now she has fallen so painfully in love with him, she can’t think clearly. Day after day, more of his story reveals itself to her, like an old sweater coming unraveled, one line at a time. She writes it all down.
Consider this: Women can sustain love and hope from great distances. They can wait and hope for their loved one for a very long time. Women often cling to love even when their lover has died and all hope is gone. Distance, time, death don’t bring an end to love.
But what’s to be done when a writer seriously loves someone she has created, someone who has never existed and never will exist? Waiting and hoping are not options. This flawed, yet perfect Daniel breathes only from the blue-lined pages of her notebook. Why does he seem so damned real when he is only in her head?
O dear! NOW you've gone and done it...
What a creative story. Where do you get these ideas?