During the period I couldn't lay my hands on your books, you should have continued to live in the minds of thousands of other people, made new acquaintances. you should have been adored by thousands, cuddled by hundreds, studied by scholars and worshiped by fanatics
The world finds your work fascinating now, they might award you 'The author with maximum number of film credits' or something of the sort. You shouldn't totally believe in what I write sir, there's no objectivity in what I say. My statements don't have the backing of facts. I am a misfit in the world of fact maniacs, which is not acceptable. It wouldn't be something you approve of sir, I am aware of that. But sir, I humbly refuse to request your approval or sanction, because it's you who taught me to respect differences, differences on the spectrum which has good and evil at its extremes, which has knowledge and ignorance as its ends.
Despite the differences we might have among us, I'd like to remind you sir I love you as much as I love any living/virtual person. You should be wondering who the virtual person is, I was referring to artificial intelligence sir, the cleverbot who is a creation of my coevals. At least, I believe I love you. Can one quantify love? You might have spoken of quantifying love in one or more of your books. Though I am an ardent and devoted reader I am no careful reader. I don't memorise and parrot your words or quotes.
What I love, is getting lost in the depths of the character that you and only you seem to able to explore. I am hardly a favoured reader, one who can spread your fame because I believe it can't be. As much as I'd want acknowledgement, fame and awards for you, there is a part of me that doesn't want others to share the knowledge(so they call it) of you, a dark, evil but passionate part of me.
Your 'adolescent' is very dear to me sir, I am not sure if I see you in him or myself in him or the both of us. That's one of the enticing aspects of reading your books, getting to become you in the silliest of ways. Your adolescent occupies my thoughts few times a day. He hasn't become Raskoklinov or Prince Myshkin yet, who were my obsessions but I guess it's not going to take long.
What sort of people have put aside 'The Adolescent' saying it's not as brilliant as your other works? Maybe they looked for standards very different from mine.
You ought to be wondering what happened in the intervening years that I didn't write to you. Precisely the same things happened to you sir, cuddled, derided, cared for, loved, degraded and the like, our lives haven't been very different you see.
Love,
Me.
