I’ve always used books as my crutch to escape. I see now how careless that was. I thought imagination was imperative to a creative mind but it has taken a dark turn in my adulthood. I will always search and dream for things that are not real. Inconceivable things I’ve read about and cultivated over the years. Things that are found only in between pages. I have neglected reality for temporary pleasure and now pain is what I receive.

I am ruined. Spoiled. A dreamer now.