hundreds of vignettes show me exactly what i'm missing
however, some have been helpful tomes
they've led me in the right direction in order to pretend my life was storybook
but like all lies, those had to come to an end as well.
my room is my own library
where i can revisit the same stories
night after night.
my dreams, hopes and aspirations are coloured by these pieces of fiction in ways fiction should never be considered.
storybooks and fairytales are cautionary -
build houses out of stone, not straw, and don't rest until you've finished the race -
so why am i reading them with a comparative eye?
books make sense.
life and love make sense in books.
they aren't supposed to in real life.
at least, i hope not.
because then otherwise,
i'm reading the wrong books.
