I used to only read factual books. I gorged on their secrets about this world. Fiction books only told of secrets in someone else's mind. A glass door to a lonely fantasy world, forever closed.
But somehow I got caught up in my fantasies of you. I read your favourite stories to understand your mind. Now I wonder wistfully through a fictional abyss, longing for you. And when this story comes to a close, you'll still be a glass door.
My tongue speaks in riddles my ears can't decipher. It twists and turns, guiding a rollercoaster of emotion. My hands protect my head during sudden drops. As my knees crash to the floor to beg for mercy.