Dear J.K. Rowling,

first, I want to say that I love your books – I truly do. It took me a while to read Harry Potter but when I did, I fell hopelessly in love with the story and its characters. I used to think that I love you too – in that deeply thankful and admiring way that I love every author who wrote a story that kept me up reading all night and never letting me go even years after I finished it. And as you might know: There are not many of those stories. Weiterlesen

Repeat

I did it again. Though I should really know better by now. But where you are concerned I’m simply unfit to plead.

So what did I do? I went away and still thought about you every minute. Nothing there reminded me of you and still everything did. It’s like a curse that my mind seems to always find ways to associate random stuff with you.

After one day of denial I just gave in and did something for you. At this point it doesn’t even matter if you suspect something because really, you telling me to back off would be a fucking relief.

You liked it but said nothing else. But that’s just the same as you liking me. I know you do. Problem is: I fancy you. Like mad. And I simply can’t do anything about it.