My story has started since a person that I never met died (last year). When I heard about his death, I felt incredibly sad, even though I didn't know him. After 3 months of his passing, a book came into my head—I had never written one before. The entire story leapt onto the pages, about situations I had never experienced and ideas that I personally would never have agreed with in my own life. In a way it was quite strange as I was fighting with the book. The book was making me write the story down exactly how it wanted it to be written.
Seven months later to the day of this person's death, I came across material and photographs of this person. Suddenly something inside of me snapped and I can't even explain the grief I felt. It was so deep; it felt as though there was a huge gaping hole in my stomach. From then on, I couldn't stop reading about this person and finding out everything I could about him, and the more I did, the more I cried.
I began to dream of this person every night, often waking up with thoughts swirling around my head, but after a few seconds they were gone. From then on, for a few days just before his death date to the day he died the pain and grief I feel becomes so overwhelming. I can't even get out of bed, it's as though I feel dead myself. I cry constantly and feel that terrible ache in my stomach. I keep feeling as though there is nothing left for me on earth, and that I should be with this person instead.
Now that I know this person inside and out, I realize that my book was written about him. The protagonist was an exact replica of him. Although the protagonist was a she. She had all his characteristics, even down to the quirky things like the way he dressed. The entire book was written about what he suffered from when he was on Earth and what he died from. Except she found help, as she had a "soul mate" from a different planet, that helped her get through her problems. In the book, this soul mate was never allowed to be revealed to her and they were never allowed to meet. It was quite strange because after I wrote the book (400 pages) I didn't feel like publishing it. I made a half hearted attempt, but have never wanted to get it published. Now somehow I feel that the book was just meant for me.
I still don't know if this is maybe my imagination, as I never did meet the person, but then I feel if I wrote an entire book about this person that I didn't know, maybe it's not my imagination. I also have no way of explaining the grief I feel on a daily basis since this person's death, and the crippling grief I feel around the time he died. My rational mind tells me it's ridiculous that I could have a connection with a person I never met, but all my senses seem to feel a very strong connection to him. Lastly I asked for some sign that we had a connection, and in one of those very real dreams, that seem too real to be a dream, I woke up in a bed and a baby lion was sleeping next to me. I am not sure if this means anything.