[an ode to books]
Escaping into a imaginary reality of written words,
I live someone else’s life.
I hurt when they hurt and I rejoice when they are happy.
It’s not real, yet it feels real to me at the moment.
I am tired of my own problems.
I need to focus on someone else’s…
Especially when I know a happy end is coming.
The book reached the end.
The story continues.
They are happy and I can smile
Watching them glide in a romantic graceful dance
That only love can fuel.
Books are outlets for emotions.
Just like good friends, they are always there,
Waiting for you to pick them up and
Ready to draw you into a story of chaos and order.