senseless

i'd forgotten...i think. my true first love. not the first man i loved...but my first love. the first "thing" that caused the impatient happiness to know more, to "live" more. perhaps it's completely ridiculous, but my first love was reading. and i've realized, all these years later that even now i easily trade my reality for the life drawn out by the words on each page. i melt into each story i love and somehow it becomes me, and i'm living in it, unable to put down the book for too long, unwilling to let the reality of reality sink in. the women characters become my sisters or my friends, the male become my brothers, or friends, or in some cases they join the very short list of those i've fallen head over heals for. and then when the book is done, or the book series in some cases (the hardest cases), i'm left feeling slightly empty, wishing for a chance to really live in that place. not normal perhaps...or maybe my imagination is just really vivid. either way, i wish life could be like the novels that have engulfed my mind.