A/N: This is the second chapter to "Writer". Remus' P.O.V. was sort of like mine, so I tried to think of how I'd feel if I were at the receiving end of all this affection. I came up with this; it's from the P.O.V. of the girl Remus likes. It's sad, like the first chapter, so don't expect any happy endings. I also will not be adding any more chapters. This is the LAST one.

I'd like to thank my beloved beta, Ashantelle for beta reading. Please read her fic; it's entitled "It's the Other Me Talking".

So, without further ado, here is Chapter 2 to "Writer". Reviews are, as always, appreciated.

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I know he writes everyday. I know he sent those poems. I don't understand why, though. I don't understand why he feels for me this way, why I am at the receiving end of all this affection. I neither like nor dislike it, but that's because you can't like or dislike things you don't understand.

When I read what he gives me, I see a world hidden beneath the lines of words he uses to express his love for me. It is a world where there is real beauty, where everything, no matter how improbable, is possible. Sometimes, as I read his poems, I fall into this world, where it is only him and me. Every time I fall into this world, I never want to leave, because this world is grander and happier than the real world.

There are times when I want to stop reading. Whenever I read, I find myself wishing that this world was real. That makes it much harder to snap back to reality. I wish that the dreams are reality and reality was a mere dream. I greatly envy him; he has a world to run to when reality starts growing unbearable.

So I write. I seek inspiration from anything and everything, from things big and small, from all the people around me. I write, and every time I read what I've written, I feel a great wave of disappointment besiege me.

I'll never be as good as him. I'll never create my own world through my writing. I won't have a world of my own to serve as my hideaway when I no longer can take the cruelty of the world. I dream that one day, I too will have a world to run to.

So I resolve to love him. He somehow made my dream come true. Every time I read his poems I have a wonderful world to run to.

I love him very much, even if it's only through his writing. I hope that's enough for him.