I remember why I used your name in the first story I ever wrote, and now, so many years later, I still can’t let you go.
I know I shouldn’t use you in every story I write. Maybe it makes all of my leading men too similar. I don’t think it does, but even if it did, I don’t think I care. I can’t stop with you.
I think I’ve developed an unhealthy obsession. But is it really unhealthy if you, imaginary guy, make me happy?
And, damn, those abs… and that sexy hair… and those strong arms… *sigh*
I seriously love you.
p.s. — Those asterisks are random. I’m not giving anything away… not even the number of letters in his name. I just can’t tell anyone. It’s too close to my heart… and I want to keep it for myself and myself alone. I’m sure this makes me weird, but he’s just… mine. Every story I’ve ever published on this blog has had name changes because I can’t share him. Hmm… maybe I am too attached. Eh… I don’t care. He’s the real (although not real) love of my life.
p.p.s. — That picture is one of many I’ve collected that resemble my imaginary man.
p.p.p.s. — The more I write in this post, the more insane I sound. Just letting you know that I do realize this.