I would share with you the book I’m reading, but then you would see into my wretched soul. With every word on each page mirroring the life I long to lead I turn the page. The yellow pages torn and broken as I try to absorb it’s essence. Each chapter taunting restless minds such as mine, untethering whatever binds reality to me. Each comma promising me an altered fragment. Perhaps a happy ending. And as the book spirals to an end I start grieving. Sadness smokes it’s way through my mind as I am reminded of the padded room I must return to. My prison holds my tightly as my mother once did. Then I am free again in a fantastical embrace of a new book.