Letter to the Author
by Jace D. Albao (b. 1969)
Dear Author of My Existence,
You’ve not yet met me, yet you know me better than you know. I am the face you see in every crowd. I am the voice you hear in your head, barely identifiable behind the noise. I am what you love to hate. I am everything you hate to love. I am the truth of your falsehood, the contradiction to you solution. I am the source of your something. I am your greed. Your patience. Your craving. Your repulsion. I am your appetite and your sickness. I am your dead-end, more than you’ve ever been. I am your idleness, your energy. I am the epitome of your potential, the manifestation of your impossible. I am your shame and pride. I am your tool. I am your coldest fear. I am your strength and stamina. Your hope. I am your your grudge, your envy, your malice. I am your unselfishness, your charity. I am your kindness. I am your heart.
I am you.
My requests are simple: Do not do me injustice. Do not mistake fact for opportunity. Do not resort to gossip for entertainment purposes. Do not sugarcoat. Do not embellish my story to suit yours. While my existence is indeed dependent on you, never forget that you only exist because of me. Consider us even.
The Character You Have Not Yet Named