Realizing I’m lonely,
With not a soul around,
I walk out the poorly lit porch steps,
My favorite book accompanying me.
And as I sit down on the cold concrete,
The cool nightly breeze
Forces against me,
Brushing past wisps of my hair,
Leaving a shivering effect on me. 

Yet, I start my book,
For the ninth time,
Wondering if this day would be any different.
And as I read,
I sense the pages singing a song,
Sending a husky voice through me.
And I laugh while hysteria bubbles in me,
Knowing that I am imagining my book talk,
Even when it seems so real. 

I deepen into the book,
When I read my favorite section,
Where I can relate to the character—
Where I can appreciate who I am inside.
And I feel as though
The gusts of wind
Make the crunchy leaves
Join me in harmony—
As if it realized its true self as well. 

Though the sun is setting,
Its power is still shining.
And in this dim glow,
I finish my book, placing it on the doorstep.
And I realize that this day
Was different from any other time I’ve read the book.
For—I felt like my book’s character came alive to reality,
Giving me company,
Just to enjoy this nature on an evening with me.