"I'm Real, You're Not"
You're fictional.
I'm real.
And that's the only thing
that keeps us apart.
I love you like you were born in my world—
like I could hold your hand,
wipe your tears,
and tell you you're not alone anymore.
When you were sad,
I cried in silence,
wishing I could break the screen
and wrap my arms around you.
When you were in trouble,
I panicked like it was real life—
only to remember
I could never come running to save you.
When you smiled,
my heart melted,
because even in your made-up world,
you still felt like home.
I wanted to be part of your story—
not as a fan,
not as a shadow,
but as someone you'd look at and stay.
I wanted to tell you,
"You don't have to be strong all the time.
You can fall apart in front of me—
and I'll still stay."
But the truth is cruel.
You're made of ink and light.
I'm made of blood and breath.
And the space between us
hurts more than any heartbreak I've ever met.
You're fictional.
I'm real.
But my love for you?
It's painfully true.