Twisted Dreams

Immortal

Journal,

I got lost in a book, again. It was a fantasy book, with vampires and werewolves and warlocks and demons. Tell me, Jo, why is fiction so much more appealing than reality? Tell me, why is mortality so disappointing?

There's so much waiting. Time moves so slowly. But my days slip through my fingers like sand. Why is it that it's always just the wrong thing? I don't want to die, but I don't want this to be my life. I can't change it. They say you can, but I can't live the way I want.

I read about all these characters, Jo, that have such interesting lives. They take them for granted, and they aren't even real. I take mine for granted, too, I suppose, but what's satisfying about being stuck in your home for months on end? What's satisfying about having nobody to talk to?

I have friends, but that's why there's nobody to talk to. I've moved around so much, I've met so many people, and befriended nearly as many. How am I supposed to make them all happy? How am I supposed to keep them all in my life?

There's too many, they're always here, always waiting, there's too many.

So I don't talk to any.

It tears me apart but it relieves me at the same time.

Jo... does that make me a bad person?

I wish I had a twin. Or a doppelganger. Or somebody that knew everything about me and still cared. Just that one person. But there's only you, Jo.

There was a warlock in my book. He's my favorite character. He's immortal -- hundreds of years old, now. He's older than any of his friends. Nobody from his childhood is alive, now. He's growing used to never seeing them again.

He doesn't take his life for granted.

Wouldn't that be so nice? To never have to worry about dying from natural causes? To have a fresh start every so often? To know that you have all the time you'll ever need? To live and love all over again? To have so many memories?

I'm a horrible person, Jo, wishing for a life like that.

Some days, it feels like that life is just out of my grasp. You know when you order something and it's the day before it arrives? And you've triple checked and everything's going okay and you know it'll get there soon?

It feels like that.

Except it never arrives.

That's why I write, Jo. That's why I write so much and can never stick to one thing until the end. Because I wish for a life I'll enjoy and I can't have it and it makes me so frustrated I want to scream.

I'll write again soon.

I'm going to read the sequel.