They’re something to get lost in.
Snuggled on a couch
With lots of thick blankets
And fluffy pillows
And it’s warm,
I open up my thick book
And let myself be
Immersed in the world
That is written in the pages.
It’s calm like sitting on a mountain peak,
It all becomes real in my mind.
Like watching a movie
Only it’s more colorful
Because it’s my own
Creating the scenes
And the details
And the characters
And how they look
From how they’re described
To what they would look like in my mind.
Life is much more challenging.
I think of reading books as an escape.
In life, you’re never sure what’s going to happen
Unlike the set path in the book
where everything’s going to be alright.
In life it’s not like that. It’s not pre-written.
It’s a story written in the moment.
Sometimes it’s pretty vivid.
I can imagine being right there with them
Going through the story with them.
With the people in life,
You don’t know everything about the people in your life
But in the book you know everything about the characters.
I don’t know if I can trust them
But I think I’ve learned to be able to trust people more
Just because of my life my right now—you have to
Be more willing to put your trust in people you don’t really know.
If life was a genre it would be a mystery
I know who did the things
It’s a question of why
They did the things they did
And why they hide them.
Its like there’s a whole pretend life
That they want everyone else to see
But only I know what was really going on
And I’m suppose to keep
This whole image of pretend
But I couldn’t live with that.
I ended that chapter and began a new one.
Only now I don’t know where this chapter
Will lead me
But at least I know that it can only be better
Than the story that it once was.