So, this is pretty short and somehow pointless and it ended up very different from how I wanted it to end up. Originally I wanted this to be somewhere in the third season, but then I read this quot, which said "Writing is the most powerful drug for mankind" (not exactly like that, but it was close) and so I ended up doing the drug-part and I just went with it.

It's not exactly Lit, but it's about Jess' books and their effect on Rory. It's written from Rory's POV. Well, I hope you'll read and review and I'm sorry, if I made mistakes cause English is not my first language.

Hugs and Greets!

Susu

Words are powerful. I've always known that. My entire life I've read the words written down by people, who used their power. But not just written words are powerful. The ones, which are spoken, can have much more effect sometimes. And the most powerful ones are love and hate. They can create relationships and destroy them, they can maker you strong or weak. They also have the strength to break people completely.

But words are so much more. They're like butterflies or flowers – easy to break, yet beautiful. And they are like drugs – if you discover how good they can make you feel you will be captivated.

His words, however, are the most powerful drug to me. Nothing can compare to my longing after them – not alcohol or cigarettes or anything else can have that effect on me. Every day I go to work, every evening I go out with my best friend, who keeps setting me up with her boyfriend's friends. But through every single one of those dates I long for his books. I count the minutes until I finally can go home and loose myself again. He's written more books after 'The Subsect' and I've all of them. They're all worn out and filled with notes in the margins – a habit I got from him.

I don't know, why I'm so passionate about his books, but I think it's because they put me into another time – a time, when I read his notes in the margins, when I was someone else; a time, when I was happy and had a dream, when I was surrounded by love. They let me escape from the coldness of this city, which is way to faceless for me and let me look into his chocolate eyes again.

My longing for his books took the place of a way deeper and way stronger longing – the longing to be near him again. Maybe I should just go to Philadelphia and talk to him. But I'm scared of what could happen. Maybe he would laugh at me, maybe he wouldn't even want to see me. Or he has moved on and has a girlfriend. But I don't want to think that. The book, which was published half a year after I left him for the last time was filled with emotions. I could feel all that hurt and regret and even hate on me, that must have battled inside of him, through the words. The next book had been calmer, but still filled with sadness. I like to read it and feel these exact emotions. But most of all I always feel the regret and the guilt for leaving him like that. In the end those are the only true emotions filling my day.

I hope, I'll someday be ready to go to him and tell him how sorry I am. Until then I'll just read his words and loose myself in a world, where everything is how it's supposed to be.