A Writer's Guide to Falling in Love

Aurora
My fingers map out the last few chords of Clementi's Sonatina in C Major on tattered ivorine keys, and I close the top of the upright piano to light applause. I allow myself a small smile and a nod to the kind patron of my favorite coffeehouse before retiring to what I've deemed 'my chair' in the back left corner of the store.

This place is any dreamer's fantasy. A coffeehouse with bookshelves lining all the walls but the counter, funky old furniture, and of course, wonderful beverages. All of these things appeal to me, as a self-called queen of dreamers, but the old Baldwin upright piano stacked high with everything from classical to jazz to showtunes is my favorite feature.

I'm not professionally a musician; I'm a writer.

But I am of the staunch belief that it is beyond wrong to judge one's life only by their occupation. Much like the fictional princess that I am named for, music is a passion of mine no matter what I do with the rest of my life.

I tear a blank sheet of paper out of my coveted Disney Princess notebook and stare at it. Reading it on the internet, it seemed like a great idea. But sitting here, trying to begin, it just seems silly.

Write a letter, and leave it somewhere you love. You never know, if someone finds it, it could lead to great things for you. Keep trying to talk to people though, because that's your ultimate goal.

Reading help on how to meet friends on the internet is pathetic enough, let alone actually following the advice. I take a sip of my iced coffee and groan quietly. If only I could just...make friends. Talk to people.

It's always been like this for me though. Trying any and all ways to maybe just get someone to stay. Maybe I need to find someone who's just really grounded, you know, really down to earth.

I've been told more times than I can count in my twenty-four years that my head is stuck in the clouds. When I was little, it was great. I could sit alone outside and dream up any world that you could imagine, and live there, if only for a moment. As I grew up, it only seemed to continually get worse.

And here I am. Sitting alone in my favorite coffeehouse, in my favorite spot, just like I have for two and a half years since I graduated from college. A creative writing degree.

I don't suggest getting a creative writing degree unless you are 100% sure that is all you will ever want to do with your life. I got lucky; and published a debut novel. It wasn't a hit, you know, but it does okay. But now there's pressure to write more, to create more. And they don't want me to write fantasy anymore.

Realistic fiction.

I shudder at the thought and turn back to writing my letter.

Dear stranger,

I suppose if you really wanted to, you could call me Briar Rose. This is me, not in my princess form. Although if you consider a lonely dreamer a princess, we may have an argument of definition coming up.

Anyway if you're not a story enthusiast like myself, I clear it up for you. My name is Aurora, and I have trouble making friends. I got this idea from the internet, and I feel like a proper fool sitting and writing this letter to someone who may never find it. I can only hope that maybe you're exactly like myself and that's why you're sitting at this piano reading a letter that you found while getting ready to play piano. Excellent choice, by the way.

Let's get right into a quick biography so I can start talking about things that I might actually care about. I'm twenty-four years old, I have a Bachelor's degree in creative writing, an affinity for varying styles of piano music, comfortable brown leather chairs, great books, and therefore this coffeehouse. I have precisely one friend outside of my family to speak of, and it's the notebook that this letter was written in. I have a debut novel out, but until someone actually finds this, I'd rather not reveal it.

So is it wrong to live in the stars? To live in the world you want it to be? I mean, the entire European age of enlightenment was focused on what the world should be. But stranger, I know that people think I'm wrong. I've heard it plenty of times. I just want to find someone in this world who might understand, even if they aren't the same.

Keep dreaming,
Briar Rose.

I feel like an idiot when I scramble back over to the piano and slip the letter covered with my neat print into the book I was just playing from, eyes clearly on me, probably expecting another performance. But no, I'm done for the day. I collect my belongings, down the rest of my drink, and wish the barista goodbye.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next couple of days I go back, my letter is still there. But on the third day, the magic number three repeated so much throughout all fantasy worlds, a new paper is there. Upon seeing it, my breath catches in my throat and I make a strangled gasping noise.

To calm myself down before I begin reading my coveted response, I play through another piece in the book. Debussy, Claire de Lune. It's always been a favorite piece of mine; one I used to fall asleep to most nights as a child. There's just something, and I hate to be repetitive, magical about it.

All too soon my iced coffee is on the little wooden table next to me that's covered in rings from drinks placed carelessly. If one looks closely enough, it almost appears as the flower of life. But I know that today, staring at it won't help me anymore than it does when I've got writer's block. I carefully press open the letter, smoothing out the crease where it was folded automatically.

The first thing I notice is the slightly messy, but very much so readable block handwriting covering the pale blue page. Most likely a male's, and that only makes me slightly more nervous.

Briar Rose,

It's too late for me. I've already gotten a creative writing degree myself, so it appears that neither one of us can be saved. It is a regrettable life, my not-so-princess. But alas, it's the one we've chosen and will live to it's end.

I am no prince. In fact, I can't even play the piano. But it seemed so...natural here, and the books so beautiful, that I could not resist. And for that I am glad.

I always used to be a closet dreamer. I would sit at home alone and write and sing and dance my life away, but I played football in school. If you had asked me then, I would've told you that I was happy. Popular, too.

But as I regrettably grew up, I've come to the realization that I never had friends. Not any that truly knew who I was. Because the second I announced that I wasn't playing football, and that I was going to school for creative writing, I was alone. I suppose some day I'll lose my imagination and become part of the real world, but I'll be living in the stars as long as I can try.

If there's any part of your world you can manipulate to make it your own, you do it.

Unfortunately, my name is not Phillip and this cannot be a clever allusion. My name is Levi (yes, I had rather religious parents), and I'll definitely be coming back to this coffeehouse.

Stay in the stars,
Levi

It takes a lot for me not to squeal. It's unimaginable, it's silly and romantic and seems false, but it's real. I'm not alone. I'm hasty to pull up my coveted princess notebook, although it's down to four sheets, and begin a new letter.

~*~*~*~*~*~

We swap letters for months. Three, to be exact, and it's truly almost too storybook. Even for me. I am his not-princess and he is my not-priest and I can't believe the internet let me make my first friend let alone something so incredible.

If this is friendship, if this is real, then I'm glad I waited this long to discover it. But today; today is the day that changes.

"Briar Rose?"

I glance up from my pencil gliding smoothly along the pages in a sky-blue notebook, one I bought after seeing the initial color of the paper of Levi's letters. I take in all - which is not much - of the man who's writing I have fallen in love with.

I hastily close the notebook. "Not-priest Levi?" A grin stretches tight across his lips, cupid's bow fading back from it's grand pronouncement.

"Guilty as charged. That wouldn't happen to be a mocha iced coffee, would it?" A shy smile appears on my face as I hand him the cup.

"Well as special as this meeting is, and believe me it's my fairytale, we are indeed in a coffeehouse. And this so happens to be both of our favorite beverage, except for in the fall."

He laughs lightly and takes a seat in the chair next to mine, one he's told me many a time is his favorite now because he likes to imagine sitting next to me sipping iced coffees and speaking our letters.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I was scared. I was really, really, genuinely frightened of meeting Levi. But it was everything I could've imagined and more, however cheesy. However, it's turned out to be the best thing in my entire life. And it's beyond amazing to be in love with something, someone so real. It's always been a book, or a movie, some sort of fake universe that I'd escape into.

But Levi, my not-priest Levi is so very, very real.

It's funny though, because as much as our relationship is conventional, going on dates and holding hands and kissing, we're still the quirky people we've always been. We still trade letters, but hardly ever go to the coffeehouse together.

Love.

It sounds so funny all on it's own, but when you thrown in something behind it, it's personal meaning to you, it's the world.

~*~*~*~*~*~
Levi
~*~*~*~*~*~

It's hard to believe that this will be my last letter to my beautiful Aurora.

Maybe what I've done is wrong, and in hindsight it's more like it's certainly wrong, but the time that we've had together has been the best for the both of us. I'd used writing and music as an escape for so long, but with my not-princess, nothing felt like an escape. I didn't have to hide; everything was just okay.

But this is the real world, no matter how much we'd like to ignore that. Having something so real has been so incredible, but all things pass. All things end. And so must this.

It doesn't take long for tears to be staining the paper, making the ink run in a few places. Somehow it makes it all feel a little more real, and I start to think that maybe things being real really is the worst.

I sign my letter and slip it into a book, toss out my empty pumpkin spice latte since it's fall now, both Aurora's and my favorite season, and go to accept my fate.

Her eyes will be the last thing on my mind, I know.

~*~*~*~*~*~
Aurora
~*~*~*~*~*~

My hands shake as I read the ink-ruined letter. Levi never wrote to me in pen before; we always discussed how we hated the permanence. Everything about this letter screams goodbye and I can't help but think that I've ruined the one perfect thing that this world has given me.

I try to call him, but it says that his phone's been cancelled. My heart deflates at the thought; could I really have messed up this badly? It seems maybe a little overboard, but I decide to phone his parents, who I became really close with when I first met them about six months into our relationship.

"Hello?" His mother's voice, so eerily similar to his, is filled with tears. And I only get more frightened.

"Mrs. Judas? It's Aurora. I've gotten a terribly worrying letter from Levi, and his phone's been cancelled. I was just wondering if he had contacted you at all. I understand if he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, but I just need to know that he's okay."

She sobs once, and I feel my heart liquify and slip out of my body, replaced with cold. "I-I'm sorry dear. I thought he would have told you. We're in the hospital right now, and, well, they're saying he's got a day left at the most. It's a brain tumor, sweetheart. He was always scared of what the surgery would do, so he let it run it's course. Levi was probably just trying to spare you. But please, Aurora, come if you can. I've never seen two people more in love than you, and you deserve to be here. You deserve to say goodbye."

I hang up and grab my car keys, holding his letter to my chest and running through the rain to my car. He and I always loved storms and the rain, but if this is all true then I only wish to see sunshine for the rest of forever. It's too real, it's too harsh.

He can't die. I'd like to say that it's for his life or for his family, but I'm selfish in this moment. I need him.

I arrive at the hospital, and the receptionist gives me a sympathetic smile when I give her the name "Levi Judas". I barely have the presence of mind to thank her before I go running to the room that my love is dying in. 333. If he and I were looking at this from the outside, we'd be laughing. But right now it's hard enough to hold in the tears, and I can tell it won't be too long before I break down. I've got to at least try to be strong, for now. This is one time where reality is unavoidable; it is my master.

His parents are just emerging from the room when I reach it, each of them giving me a teary-eyed smile, and I'm too late.

He's gone.

I push past them and enter the room anyway. It seems so weird, to be in a room with a dead body. But I know his soul's in there somewhere; he would never leave without letting me say goodbye. So I sit on the end of his deathbed and I cry, and I give him one last letter. It's certainly the shortest thing either of us has ever written or said, but it's also probably the most important.

"I love you, Levi Judas. So I will live for you." I place a gentle kiss on his forehead and I stand up and leave the hospital room. I find his parents and we comfort each other.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next few weeks are possibly the most difficult of my life, especially his funeral. How terrible it is to love something that can die. But soon enough I find myself writing in my chair again, a berry smoothie sitting next to me. Levi taught me that I've got to try new things.

I don't think it applies to beverages in a coffeehouse. This is terrible. But something around me had to change, as I read his last letter once more before I get up to play my first original piano composition.

Dearest Briar Rose,

Everything comes to an end. Books have a last page, series have a final book, and movies have the final credits. But they say if a writer falls in love with you, you can never die. I'm hoping that this holds true in the end, my not-princess.

Protagonists always have their secrets, right? It's how they create conflict. Our story hasn't found that yet, well, until now. I kept something from you, Aurora, and I've realized now it was a mistake. I just want you to remember me exactly as you knew me, for the entire two and a half years.

And I want you to know that you're the only thing outside my family that I know I've really loved. But as all things come to an end, so must we.

Don't search for me, Aurora. I don't want you to find me as I will appear at any point in the future. Just know that you will be forever loved.

With all of my bleeding heart,
Levi
(P.S. You're truly a princess, Aurora. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently.)

These words will never leave me, at least in my heart. So I tuck it into my now-empty princess notebook, place it in my bag, toss out my barely-sipped smoothie, and sit down at the piano in my favorite coffeehouse that gave me life.

With shaky hands I start the initially busy, then sweet, and finally grand waltz with a half-smile on my face. At the end, there's a standing ovation. I've gathered an audience.

"Excuse me miss; what was that piece called? I don't believe I've ever heard it before."

I laugh lightly as I close the piano, really only able to play a piece at a time without being overcome with emotion. "I would hope not; it's an original composition. I call it 'The Priest and the Princess'."

It's in 3/4.