Wilson—Wilson—Wilson—what is life, but opportunities to grow and experience the moments I’ve created for you. The problem is, you and Max have decided to live your own lives and as much as I try and dictate what is going to happen; you both tend to pull back on the thick reigns I’ve lashed across your experience and gallop in the other direction.
It seems the expectations I have set for you may have been too conservative. The life I’ve envisioned for you has been overshadowed by your brilliance. Did I expect you to touch so many people? Maybe—but I never imagined you would change their lives.
It could’ve been your life story, or your innocence; maybe it was the thrill of your first experiences, or the agelessness of your soul. Damage or healed, no matter which way, you’ve become so much more than a character to people.
You represent a missed youth, a healed memory, and a time in a young girl’s life when everything seemed so powerful and yet completely powerless.
Your story found a way to tuck and nuzzle into the folds of people’s hearts. You’ve brought them so much more than I could have ever imagined.
So Wilson, I ask for your patience. Understand the words I type across the pages of your life aren’t merely letters of an alphabet mixed up to make up your world. They are words, sentences, paragraphs, and chapters that make up your story.
Without your voice echoing in my ears and your story pummeling my every thought the world would have never had an opportunity to meet you.
So I guess it boils down to Thank You Wilson. Thank you for giving me a story to write, a group of characters to develop, and most of all—a love story that reminded me of what it felt like the first time I fell in love.