What I’d Tell My Future Lover in a Hidden Fantasy Realm

If you find this letter,

Between whispers of wind and candle smoke,

In a place where the stars are mirrors and the moon wears a crown of glass

Then know this:

You were always meant to find me.

I live in the in-between.

Where time folds like parchment,

Where seasons shift on a sigh,

And names are etched in moss instead of memory.

I do not know your face yet.

But I know the weight of your presence.

It tugs at the edges of my dreams,

Like soft fingers brushing against silk,

Or the first warm breath before a kiss that never was.

Here, in this hidden realm

Books do not just speak;

They sing.

They tell of warriors made of stardust,

Of queens who command rivers with grief alone.

And somewhere, they write you and me.

You—the stranger who feels like a melody I haven’t hummed yet,

A constellation I’ve traced with closed eyes

A voice that reads every unsent letter in my soul.

I would tell you this:

I am not whole.

Not in the way stories pretend love will fix.

I have sharp corners,

Battle-worn bones,

And a heart that limps from past timelines.

But I am ready.

To walk beside someone who doesn’t ask me to be soft,

But lets me choose when to be.

To hold hands in thunder,

Not just when the sky is clear.

I would show you where the forest hides its last flame.

Where rain falls upward,

And time does not chase us like a hunter.

We’ll carve a home in the pause between heartbeats,

Where words need no air to be heard.

We’ll speak in glances.

In stillness.

In warmth.

And when you ask, “Why me?”

I’ll say:

Because even destiny waits for the right chapter to begin.

I would tell you

I’ve imagined a thousand endings,

But none without you.

Not the you of perfection,

But the you who forgets sometimes.

Who doubts. Who aches.

Who wants to be chosen, even when they don’t feel deserving.

You are.

You always were.

And if we are but echoes

Fragments in a realm lost between dusk and dream—

Let this be your sign:

Love survives even what the gods forget.

So come find me.

In the library buried under mountain bone.

At the bridge made of glass petals.

In the hour the clock refuses to strike.

Find me in that sacred hush

Where lovers are not found…

But remembered.

In every realm, in every rewrite of fate

I’m always yours. Even before you arrive.