I’ve lived a million lives in a single minute.

Tasted a thousand tongues.

And been a million people in the span of a second.

Pages flip when, and only when, I command them and the people inside will always surprise me like no other people.

The friend more understanding.

Boys darker, yet brighter than in real life.

I never understood life but when you know what’s coming next you know what to do.

Paper and book bindings are better than any comfort because when you read you live as that person.

A span of a week can go by and the pages add up.

Life is missing something.

And books have that missing piece.

The people in them have it all even when it all goes bad.

It’s not fair that we live here in this dreary existence when they live as they do.

Bullets rip through skin with the same force of words through my head.

Fast.

Forceful.

To the point.

And at least with bullets I feel something.

I feel nothing.

Black.

Empty.

I’m not sad.

Or angry.

Just…empty.

I have to fake my smile for people. It feels plastic; fake.

It won’t be long now before my face freezes like this and I won’t know the difference between this and a real smile.

And so I send surges of evil and blackness to my chest, reminding myself of the real me.

No one can hear me.

And that’s good, because words are silent things.

They slip into the excess of your mind and lay in wait to spring upon you when you’re down.

Or they comfort you in the quiet room where you weep silently to yourself.

Because no one lives up to your expectations.

So words come together to form a single being that you turn to for help.

But these beings are both a blessing and a curse

Today I smile and clap like a good little girl.

But inside my feelings will tear at my chest like an evil demon intent on ripping my soul out.

And maybe that’s exactly what it plans to do.

My stomach is in knots.

My hands tremble.

I want someone to understand.

Or at least someone to listen when I speak.

Or tell me to stop.

Or to live.

To write, read, think.

To tell me I’m wrong.

To yell!

Scream!

To lay all of their emotions out where we can revel in the black misery and crimson rage.

 

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One response »

  1. Terri says:

    Holy! This is powerful, Kaylee – amazing. This is how I’ve always felt about books. I’m speechless…or, as you say, “Words are silent things.” OMG. So true. Thank you, thank you for this.

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