One Last Letter

I was staring at stars, and a voice whispered, “Did you get a response yet?”
I held my tears, kept my voice low, took a heavy breath. I tricked my mind into travelling a few years ago.

One last time, I let the words flow. With all memories flashed, the words owned me.

I grew up in the fantasy world. My dad often reads me bedtime stories of the real world. He’d talk about death eaters, flying cars, prisons of Azkaban and Horcruxes. We talk about how lucky we’re, to be immortal in our fantasy world.

Our world has a beautiful lake, pleasant air, shredded leaves of Autumn. Swans in the lake would never make us feel alone, the sun sets when I close my eyes. Dad would read me news from the real world, how Sirius Black lost his life. It brought tears in me, “why is everyone not part of our fantasy world!”

One unusual night, he had to go to the real world. To save the good, from the bad. I was never told what’s bad, I assume it was death. We made our way to platform 9 3/4.

He gave me a kiss, handed a parchment with his address in the real world. We promised to meet for a walk along the lake.

I’d never know if my letters ever reach him. Mom says the real world is light-years away, up in the stars. He shall be immortal, in me.

I ask me every day, “Do I get a response?”