I suppose the best way to describe it would be to say that I just feel kind of empty and bursting at the seams. Because I mean imagine it, if Sherlock had never found John, he would have hit that self destruct button in no time, John is his solitude, the one he can tell everything to, can lie to, can confide in, can be with infinitely. It's platonic and beautiful and it's what I want. I just want someone there. Who will listen to everything I see and be able to understand everything I mean and like everything I like and comment on everything I comment on and have that circle of conversation.. Alas, I know of no one like this. There's one person I can think of where I can talk to them about pretty much ANYTHING. I know she won't judge me and will listen completely and not divert the topic back to her purposefully, but just helpfully. The only thing missing from our friendship is Sherlock.... URGHERBH Even thinking about Sherlock hurts. I mean it physically hurts. Because I can hear him speaking all the time, I see him everywhere, I envisage his methods racing through mind, I picture the banter, the humour, the heartbreak, the cleverness. I just want him and only him and there will never be anyone else, there just won't.
I sold my heart to what the world likes to think is a "fictional" character but I know he's not fictional because he makes me feel emotions that not even people who exist can. He is real.
No comments:
Post a Comment