text: I exist only as much as you let me. We spend hours, sometimes days together, you lying in the grass in the warm June sunlight, flipping the crisp white pages of your book, discovering me. You get to know me and I get to know you, too. You like earl grey tea and drink black coffee. You own two cats. You like microfiber throws. I know these things because you let me, because in the purest form, I exist because of you. I exist because you bought a book. Your image of me changes. You fall in love. You fall in love with someone who does not exist in your universe but rather the one that you created, the one that is only because you let it be. I tell you that I love you. I do. I wish more than anything that we could be together in more than just words on a page and me screaming, pleading to the clouds that just hide me from seeing what you look like. I wish that you could stay. And as you reach the end, those last faithful sentences, you realize that I will no longer be there. Your tears stain the pages and it rains in my world. It is okay, you will find other stories, you will read other books and maybe one day, you will happen upon mine again. Maybe for a couple hours of a couple days, you will let me exist again.