An Escape From Reality

First, I seek the refuge of my stories. These tales that have played out endlessly through my mind, changing like the aging of a man who's skin is marred with every victory. The novels and epics of my imagination are planned with further consideration in this nightly ritual. I make a change here, replay a piece there, and eventually I draw the curtain for the approach of the second act.

This is when the second star takes his place on the stage, revisiting the events of the day. Many of the points mentioned broach on the past, and, often, it's one of the same few events.

Finally, my mind finds those hidden pages, the ones so old they were written with a quill, or the ones so new they were typed on a laptop, and I remember. I remember the scars I have, the scars I've inflicted, and the scars I've seen. I remember the lives I've watched crumble from afar, the lives that have left me to hold myself up. I remember the fights, the mistakes, the pain, and the folly.

And just before my mind is whisked away to the brief respite from reality, I think "what if".