It must be both confusing and maddening to love a writer. Writers often walk between two worlds—one of tangible, day-to-day reality and another, incorporeal, where inspiration and imagination reign. It must be frustrating to be with someone who, at any given moment, seems to slip away, abandoning the present to immerse themselves in an alternate world where characters whisper, demand, and plead for attention. How do you avoid feeling jealous when the person you love spends so much time crafting deeply emotional, intimate, and even passionate relationships with figures who aren’t you?

The key to loving a writer is understanding that they compartmentalize their worlds. Yes, their characters and stories may be inspired by real people and events, but they belong to the realm of imagination—where the writer intends for them to stay. But you, my love, are real. You are flesh, blood, and bone. You are mind and spirit. You are warmth and laughter, breath and heartbeat. You can be touched, tasted, held, and cherished in ways no character ever could. You have the undeniable advantage over any fleeting inspiration or the hundred personas merged into one.

So, if you find yourself wondering whether a writer values you as much as their stories, know this—they value you more. Unlike their characters, you are not bound by the strokes of a pen or the whim of a plot twist. You are the great unknown, the unscripted adventure, the mystery they ache to unravel. With you, there is no predetermined ending—only the thrill of discovery, the raw beauty of a love that writes itself, one moment at a time.