Between Pages and World

Pages turn, and I fall again. Not for the boy next door, but for the one inked in someone else’s dream. His words are softer than reality, his smile—drawn, but eternal. Every chapter writes me deeper into a love that was never mine. I trace the sentences like skin, I breathe the paper like air. The world outside fades, but inside this book— I am alive, I am seen. They call it fictional, but tell me— isn’t love always a little imagined? If hearts can break for people who walk away, why can’t mine ache for someone who never lived? So I stay— with my shelf of lovers, my galaxy of words, my endless escape. Reality may never hold me close, but stories will. And somewhere between ink and eternity, I fall in love again— hopelessly, fictionally.