A simple flip of the page; a calm, musty odor
Sucks me out of this world, and puts me where it pleases.
I am at the mercy of the word; I’m at the whim of the sentence.
I see each place as an outsider; I cannot intervene, or change how it ends,
There is sorrow, joy, greed, despair, and hope, yet I love every moment of it.
At times I cry with the characters, I’m shocked at the evil in the villain’s heart.
I’m there to witness every conflict; and I know all secrets, even when the character doesn’t.
I see into the minds of strange people; people who aren’t even real,
And feel for every action, which simply reflects the author’s personality,
I see historic events in far-off lands, which I know I’ll never visit
But feel as if I’m there, even at this very moment.
I envy every author, with the power to catch one’s heart in such a way,
And so when I pick up a book off the shelf and open the front cover
I’m exhilarated, excited, and prepared
To enter a parallel universe.