Fictional Characteristics

Sometimes I like to sit in my bed with a good book and disappear among the pages for hours on end. I cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, someday I could become a part of a fascinating story such as the ones I become engrossed in.

I like to plug in my headphones and get lost among the lyrics. I like to imagine the feelings the writer felt, the thoughts they conjured up, the predicament they were in. I like to imagine that someday I could successfully write out a complete thought as they had.

I like to write and write and write until my heart is bleeding out on the paper. I like to hold the pencil until I feel the blood coursing through my veins to form the words I have never before been able to connect together correctly.

I enjoy the tidal wave of emotions these three very different forms of escape bring me. They pick me up in one place and deliver me to another.

But other times I become trapped within the thoughts of my brain without any form of escape. I just linger inside my head for a split second too long, and I spend hours there.

Hours turn to days, days turn to weeks, weeks to months, until I no longer am myself. At least, I am not the me I've been building up.

I become the part of me that I have spent the past 5 years burying alongside the rubble of my fragmented mind, and in that moment I wish I had fallen into the pages of my unopened notebook.

July 6 2015