Maybe I should just let it be, and maybe it will all come back to me.

O January, O. I think at least once a year this happens to me. At least. Usually more than once.

I want to talk to you since I don't think you'll read this anyway. Even if you do, you won't know it's you. You'd have no idea. Why would you?

I want to tell you how I feel without really telling you. It's something I've always wanted to be able to do - tell people things without them knowing. There is a sort of fundamental need inside of me to impart thoughts on other people that only exist in my own brain. I want to be able to think so hard that it gives the subjects of my thoughts some thin fog that floats around their heads and lets them have some smaller version of what I feel.

I want it especially in this situation. For a few years I have had an idea, or maybe I should call it a feeling, that has popped into my head, but I have been unable to tell you. In fact, I've never even mentioned it. I wish now that I had but to mention it now would really do me no good.

Sometimes I think that our meetings in my dreams are real, like maybe sharing dreams is a reality and not just something in a movie. What a dumb idea, right? That eventually fades, the longer I'm awake, and I know I'm stuck with this dilemma. It's an unsettled kind of feeling that sits, dormant, until another dream, or another remark you might make to me, or not to me - maybe it's just a remark.

If something lasts for this long, maybe it's real. Or maybe I just need to get over it. I don't mean to romanticize anything. If I shared the true meaning behind my words, I think you'd call me crazy or stupid, or childish. It's a fairy-tale sort of mentality that I'm chasing, and that never seems to work out for anyone outside of fairy-tales. Cliché much? Obviously. That's what I secretly am.

Here, I've stayed up way too late rambling about nothing.

Maybe I'll see you tonight in my sleep and I can finally get some things off my chest. That's never what happens, though.

Whoever you are reading this, it's not what you think. I know what I've written may sound like something that it's not, but it isn't.

Look how cryptic and childish I am. I just might be the next Taylor Swift!

Hey, you. I love you. All of you. Really. And maybe sleep will help me fix my brain. Goodnight.

END.