Chapter Two

Dear You,

Yes I'm talking to you, the guy/girl (I have to be politically correct and recognize women's equality and therefore put the slash… which is funny because I don't mind it when we generalize and make it "he") who is reading this.

So how's your day going… Isn't that what most friends start out by saying? What's up? We're friends right? Or are we more acquaintances? I mean we're not "technically" pen pals because you never write back so what are we? I'll have to think about that and come up with an answer for you.

So today's topic: Dreams.

Dreams are amazing. I love when I fall asleep at night and I actually dream. It's getting rarer of course, lately all I've been having is nightmares, but I love when you have a really, really good dream and you don't want to wake up from it. The type of dream where you just want to stay curled up in your bed for a long time so that you can keep on dreaming. I'm pretty sure you know what sort of dream I'm talking about. It's the type of dream that makes you want to not go to school. Usually for me it has to deal with flying or any of my fictional crushes…

But there are more than just dreams when you go to sleep. There are daydreams and prophetic dreams which people might call visions and all that stuff. Then there are the dreams about what you want to do with your life. I think that when we're little we have more of these dreams and then when we get older these dreams are squashed. Like when you were younger you wanted to be a circus performer but then you get older and people start telling you that you can't do what you want to do because it's either too dangerous or it doesn't make enough money.

Well screw all of that!

I for one don't care about how much money I'll earn… okay that's a lie, I probably will care. But I want to be a writer. A writer. I've done my research and writers don't make much money. Which I think is so unfair. Not how much money they make. But why do we have to choose what we want to do with our lives based off of how much money we will make?

Money should not be the root of our happiness.

So I say, keep dreaming. Keep trying to do what you want to do because who cares about how much money you'll make. Sometimes the poorest people are the happiest as long as you're doing something you love with the people you love.

This letter seems a bit happier than some other ones I've written. Maybe that's a good sign.

I hope that you're staying strong.

~Your dreaming letter writer

Words for the Wise: We all dream and I dream about things that some people call too ambitious. However I'll still wish on every star when they start falling, I'll still dream on every penny I toss into a well. Sometimes the best dreams are the ones that no one else believes in, because those are the dreams that will change the world.

Post Script- Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

"Bravo Mr. Daniels, spectacular as always," Mr. Hector Kaine said, leaning back in his chair in one of the numerous boardrooms at Kaine Records. He sat at the head of the long table with a dozen other people all sitting around, watching the chocolate haired young man with intent eyes, awed by his voice.

"Thank you sir," Ty Daniels said as he nervously patted his guitar. He did that whenever he was nervous which was quite often. "I'm glad you liked it. I worked hard on it and I thought that the one rift during the chorus..."

"Whatever, whatever," Kaine said as the once famous rockstar stood up and headed towards his mini-fridge where he rummaged through it, looking for something to drink. His once famous dreadlocks were now ratty and mangled, his sense of style had drastically plunged downwards due to hard years of terrible reviews for his music.

But he was still the best there was in the recording and music industry, despite his misleading appearances.

"So how was the world tour? Great right? I mean you got all the adoring teenage girl fans that you would get if you were in one of those boybands, the ones who throw their shoes and other articles of clothes at you. You've got the wild after parties, you've got the food and heck you've even got the parents on your side with your lyrics," Kaine rambled on as Ty absent mindedly nodded his head at whatever he said. Better to agree with Kaine than to disagree. It was a law of the trade.

Kaine wandered back to the table, a bottle in his hand. He slumped down into his seat and plucked at his zebra print shirt which was unbuttoned two buttons too many. "So then, what we need is a new record. I was-"

"Yes!" All of the people around him said, all eager to get on their boss's good side, which side that was they all had yet to learn of course.

Kaine glared at them as he took a swig of his drink. "Did I ask for your opinion?" They all shrunk back into their chairs, looking like terrified kindergarteners. Ty had a hard time controlling his laughter at the sight.

"As I was saying, a new record," he said, hiccupping. "And pronto! At least twelve new songs and make sure to include that last one, the one about dreams and all of that hippie stuff. But lose the acoustic guitar. We're not cowboys are we?"

"Of course not sir!" One of the new interns said from where he sat at the far end of the table near Ty. Kaine raised a singular eyebrow and looked at him.

"Last time I checked, I wasn't asking what you thought about my question. Honestly it's hard to find good help these days," he muttered, continuing to absent-mindedly pluck at his shirt as if he was trying to remember something. He looked up. "Are you still here?" He asked. Ty jumped up, grabbing his guitar.

"Nope sir, I'm gone. I'll have Sirius call your people to get the details all figured out." If there was one thing Ty knew Kaine hated, it was logistics.

Ty hurried out of the board room with his guitar. He stopped in the lobby where he pulled out his sunglasses and baseball cap, pulling them on in a vain attempt to try and hide his face.

When he had first started singing, Ty Daniels never thought that he would have to resort to the whole idea of wearing a baseball cap and a pair of shades to try and cover his face.

But girls, especially fangirls, were crazy. And he would like to keep his shirt on his body.

Grabbing his guitar case he strode down a few flights of stairs and out the front door. After finding a cab, he slid into it, pushing his guitar case over. He gave the cabbie his address and then pulled out his new phone, his other one having been broken a week ago when he accidently dropped it down the toilet (Reporters weren't usually allowed in the bathroom).

"What's up? How'd the meeting go?" A familiar voice on the other side of the line asked.

"Fine, fine, it went fine, we need a new record, at least eleven new songs." Ty said as he drummed his fingers on his thigh.

"Just please don't procrastinate this time, last time it was a near nightmare," Sirius sighed over the phone. Ty grinned. Last time he had to write songs for his album he had waited until the last night before finishing them and nearly drove Sirius up a wall with all of his panicking.

"What me? Procrastinate? Who do you think you're talking to?" Ty said with mock shock. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. "I'll be back to the apartment in about ten minutes, twenty if traffic is crap again."

"I'd bank on twenty, traffic is always crap here," Sirius said. Ty chuckled before ending the call and slipping his phone into his pant pocket.

o.O.o

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked, leaning in the doorway of Ty's room in their apartment, staring at his best friend who was lying on his back, holding a piece of paper up above his face. Dozens of other pieces of paper were scattered around him and Sirius was praying that Ty didn't accidently spill his glass of soda on them or else they would have a problem.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Ty asked, rolling over to a sitting up position but never taking his eyes off of his piece of paper. He ran a hand through his frazzled hair and then looked up at Sirius. He stared at the younger man, with the midnight black hair and sharp eyes with pale skin. His slightly boyish face was betrayed by the wrinkles in his brows, a signal of his worry.

"Are we going somewhere tonight?" He asked, confused when he took in Sirius's outfit.

Sirius shook his head. "No, I'm just dressing like this for fun. Of course we're going somewhere you idiot. Don't you remember? You promised Charles that you would play for tonight at the opening of his new club."

"Damn it," Ty said, rubbing his face with his hand. "I completely forgot." He set down the piece of paper and stood up, stretching his arms and popping his back. "One sec," he said, disappearing into his bathroom.

Sirius looked down at the pieces of paper on the floor and noticed that they were not written in Ty's handwriting but instead in a feminine scrawl. Sirius shook his head.

It was those damned letters.

While he had to admit that those letters had done them some good, Ty seemed to be obsessed with them. He claimed that they were his inspiration for every song that he had written and he always read them all before composing.

Sirius was about to pick one up, knowing that it would be his only chance to read one since Ty wouldn't let anyone else touch them, but Ty reappeared. He had changed out of his crinkled shirt into a button down and black pants. He stared at Sirius suspiciously.

"Were you reading my letters?" He asked.

"No," Sirius said, attempting to sound as if it was a ridiculous thought. Ty raised an eyebrow while buttoning his bottom button on his shirt.

"Wanna hear something?" He asked.

"Even if I said no, you'd still read it to," Sirius said, rolling his eyes.

"You've got that right," Ty smirked, his usual smirk appearing on his face. He picked up the piece of paper that he had been reading and cleared his throat before beginning. "I want to be a legend. I want to do something that inspires someone, somewhere, that makes them think about something and that causes them to change the world. I want to be a legend. Even if it's only in the minds of one person. If I do, then I'll have fulfilled one of my dreams."

He put the piece of paper down and then leaned against his king sized bed. She had been talking about how she was worried that she would fail her Physics test. But then she went on to say that it sounded stupid, why care about something so little when there were so many other important things to think about?

Why worry about a Physics test when there were people dying of cancer? Or people starving in third world countries?

"She's a genius, you know that right?" Ty said thoughtfully. "I wish that I could have met her. Maybe if I had just worked up the nerves, then I could have left her a letter. I could have met her, but I guess this is the next best thing. She's a legend to me." He smiled at the thought about her.

Was it normal to fall in love with a girl that he only knew from letters written six years ago? Was it possible to fall in love with words? Obviously it was. Because Ty was six feet deep in love.

"That's nice Ty, but honestly you have to finish getting ready for the opening of Charlie's club. Your hair looks like the rats in the basement decided to come and make residence in it," Sirius reminded his best friend who seemed to still be living in the world of those letters.

Sometimes when it got bad like this Sirius became tempted to burn the letters. But then he remembered that every song Ty had ever written was inspired by some line in those letters. So he guessed that he had to thank this mystery girl for something.

"It's not that bad," Ty complained, but nevertheless he ran a hand through his hair, giving Sirius a goofy grin. He began folding up the letters and putting them back into their envelopes. With the way that he handled those letters, as if they were the Declaration of Independence, Sirius wondered why Ty didn't wear gloves so that he avoided fingerprints.

Ty cleaned up the letters, closed the box, and popped his knuckles which had always been a bad habit of his. "What would I do without you Ty?" He asked as he looked in a mirror on the wall to try and fix his hair.

"Die or at least go insane," Ty grinned. Ty agreed, Grant had gone from his friend to best friend to manager to life saver.

"So Charles's new club right?" He gave a frustrated growl, giving up on his hair and instead settling for a hat.

"Yeah. It's at nine and a lot of people are going to be there," Sirius said as he checked his phone. Ty let out a groan.

"Cameras?" He asked.

"Aren't they always?" Another groan.

"Press?"

"Yes Ty. They kinda go with the whole camera territory."

"Just promise me they won't get into the bathroom I'm using," Ty said, shuddering as he remembered last time.

"Ty that was a fluke and you know it. I'm positive that Charles will have the best security. And most people are going to be focusing on him and his transferring from a basketball career to owning a club, you're just there to be the entertainment."

"Great, I'm just the entertainment," Ty snorted as he straightened his tie. "Why do I do these sort of things?"

"Because you need to keep your image up," Sirius reminded him.

"Yeah my 'image'," Ty snorted. "It's only my image, not who I really am. Everyone probably thinks that I'm a player and a massive jerk."

"But you are Ty," Sirius pointed out.

"But I don't want to be," Ty whispered, staring at his appearance in the mirror. He looked like every other popstar out there. But he wasn't so sure he wanted to be one anymore.

"Then what do you want to be Ty?" Sirius asked impatiently; he was not in the mood to be having this sort of discussion, not when they had to leave in ten minutes.

Ty pulled on his shoes and thought hard. "I want to be a legend, just like she said," he decided.

"Ty you are a legend. You have millions of girls at their feet, you've sold out a worldwide tour, you even have parents on your side with no one and I mean NO ONE has done before. You are a legend."

"I'm only famous because of her words. That's not a legend. There's a difference between famous and leaving a legacy. A legend changes people for better, they inspire. I don't do any of those things. I just make teenage girls go crazy."

"Oh come on Ty, think of all the girls that come up to you after shows and say how much you've changed their lives. Those girls aren't crazy teenage girls as you call them."

"No they're crazy, weepy teenage girls," Ty corrected. He grabbed his coat from off of off a chair where he had thrown it absent mindedly.

"Ty do you need to go and see Dr. Monroe again?" Sirius asked, slightly worried. Ty knew that Sirius hated it when he got into this funk. It made him scared.

Scared that Ty would quit.

But Ty knew that he couldn't quit. Nope, he was far too deep to quit. "No I don't need to see Dr. Monroe again," Ty sneered.

Dr. Monroe had been his psychiatrist when he had a brief stint a few months back and had to go into rehab. Not because he did anything stupid, but because of his past. A past that he was all too ready to forget. And Dr. Monroe always seemed to patronize him and make him feel smaller than he really was.

"I just need to I don't know do something," he said, heading towards the elevator in the living room.

"Well you can think about changing the world later, we have to go. Maybe you could plant a thousand trees in the Rainforest or something," Sirius said as he followed Ty out of the room. Ty snorted.

See people thought that that was what it meant to be a legend. Planting trees. How dumb. He bet that she would have a good idea. But she had to leave him with that last letter.

Ty never thought that he would have been changed by a letter. But then again so many strange things happened to people on a daily basis.