Stranger: I don’t think we’re meant to fall in love with someone and spend forever with them. I think the whole “the one” thing is just bullshit.

“That’s depressing,” I whispered, then tapped my words out to him.

That is incredibly depressing.

Stranger: How did I know you wouldn’t agree with me? Even after the guy from years ago that treated you the way he did, you still believe in it?

Of course I do.

I don’t think it’s always easy, and the journey to find the person you’re meant to be with can be messy, but I think there is at least one person for everyone. And I don’t say “at least” in the instance that we get bored, but if there’s a death, or something like that . . .

And, yeah, it can start with wants and needs and desire, but you never know when it might end up turning into something so much more than that—when your soul recognizes theirs. I feel like a part of our souls are dying away every day until we finally find the person who holds the other half.

Stranger: Soul mates, huh? If that even exists, I think people are quick to put that label on someone. Just like I think people are too quick to say those three little words.

True, some people are.

Stranger: Not you?

I had only ever told one person that I had loved them, and I hadn’t even said the words “I love you.” I’d simply told Ben that I’d been in love with him for as long as I could remember. Those three words had never left my lips, though I had fantasized for years about the day they would.

No, but I envy them. I think it’s a beautiful thing to be a lover.

Stranger: You and your words . . .

Stranger: So you’re a romantic then?

Obviously, as if you expected me to be anything less.

And I will say I’m kind of disappointed in your lack of belief in love.

Stranger: Sorry, Words. No white knight waiting to sweep you off your feet here.

Ha ha. Shame.

I fought off a yawn as I tapped out my response, and glanced up when something caught my eye out of one of the large windows of the warehouse. I blinked quickly, squinted, then smiled at the pinkish gray sky.

Good morning, Stranger.

Stranger: Christ. Already? Morning, Words.

I don’t know why you always sound so surprised when you won’t ever let me go to sleep.

Stranger: I’m sorry.

Stranger: I like your words, what can I say?

My chest moved with my silent laugh, and my lips pulled into a smile.

Yeah, but I think people at work are starting to worry about why I can’t function.

There was such a long pause before the little dots popped up, indicating he was typing, that I’d thought he’d finally fallen asleep.

Stranger: I’m really struggling not to ask where you work. Or who you are . . .

I wouldn’t tell you even if you did.

Stranger: Ever?

My thumbs stilled above my screen as I thought. What we’d had with my notebook last week, and now with texting all night every night, was safe because we knew nothing about each other. And yet, in the past week and a half, I’d told him everything about myself.

He didn’t know my name, my family, the specifics of my past with Ben, or about Keith . . . but he knew more about me than anyone else ever had. And I knew that was because there was this sense that he wasn’t actually real. Like he was fictional. It was as if I was falling for the hero of a book, except he was real.

Something told me that if we were ever put in front of each other, what we’d had would end, and I wasn’t ready for it to. I’d never had this, and I didn’t know if I ever would again . . . so I wanted it for as long as it could last.

I’m not sure.

Stranger: Right . . . probably best, yeah?

Yeah . . .

Stranger: Before I let you go, can you tell me something?

Of course :)

Stranger: What ever happened to that not-so-suicide note that started all of this?

Ha . . . the song?

Stranger: It was a song?

The beginning of one, yes.

Stranger: . . . were those all songs?

My cheeks burned with heat as I quickly tapped on the screen.

Songs and poems, yes . . .

Stranger: So did you finish it?

I blinked slowly as I realized I couldn’t even think of anything to say about my nights with Ben other than what I’d already said. I’d been thinking about those nights for years before I finally allowed myself to write about them, and then my Stranger came and made me wonder why I was still waiting for a guy who wasn’t even alive to love me.

Actually, no. I’d forgotten about it with our notes and everything.

Stranger: Are you saying my words can make you forget? ;)

Stranger: Are you going to?

Yes. That’s exactly what I was saying. I chewed on my bottom lip as I thought, then finally responded.

Ha ha. I’m not sure. I thought I had an entire song about what I was for him, and what he never was for me—but now I’m not so sure.

I flew up to a sitting position on the couch, and glanced back up at the window. The sky now a mixture of pinks, purples, and oranges.

Stranger: He didn’t deserve a song anyway

Hold on. I’ll be back with something, but then I really need to get ready for work.

I ran through the warehouse and tiptoed into my room, and snatched my notebook up before running back out to the couch. I flipped to the first clean page since our notes had taken up so much of the others, quickly wrote out what had been Ben’s song, and then added a little bit below. Once it was done, I took a picture and sent it to Stranger.

Who listens to your sad songs

The shoulder that you cry on

Out on that ledge you walk on

When you’re sinking

Who keeps your secrets locked up

When there’s no one you can trust

I know it’s much more than just wishful thinking

Just say the words and you know I’ll be there

You can’t believe it’s daylight

We stayed up again all night

Just ta Talking just cause you like the way I make the words sound

I waited for what seemed like hours but was really only a minute before those little dots popped up. My heart raced and I bit at my lip as I worried about what he would say.

Stranger: That’s not about him, is it?

No . . .

Stranger: Will there be more?

I guess that depends.

Stranger: On?

Our conversations, and if they continue.