Fantasies? Not at All

 
Burying my face into the exclusive letters in-between pages, my mind ventures out to unfathomable lives. Experiencing, fighting, falling in love, feeling the pain of the characters. Sequestering myself as the world around me extirpates into nothingness, I’m enveloped in an entirely different world.

New people with mysterious personalities, the evil, heart-wrenching page turnover making my stomach ache. As a chapter ends and my anxious hands prepare to flip the fragile pages, my heart pounds to know what comes next.

Her independent, self-efficient power drives me to become her. His minuscule introvert character seems so timid yet his intelligent, sardonic comments prevail. I fall more and more in love.

Between two covers, my hands become sore from the eager grasp onto my book. My eyes grow weary and exhaust as its running a marathon to the last finished sentence. My heart beats as if it’s about to leap from my chest and onto the pages. The adrenaline to knowing what comes next, the realized passion to a character when he dies, the aggravation that the author actually killed that character, and the sole adventure diving into a journey so realistic. It takes me away from my own. I can experience an infinite amount of lives and feel an eternal amount of emotions. They’re not just story books to me, they’re my adventures.