Sometimes, when the sky is just the right shade of grey,
and the rain is rhythmically pattering on my bedroom window,
and the outside air is sharp but the inside air is heavy and comforting,
I get this itch to write.
My fingers want to dance across the keys
and create songs of clicking to match the rhythm of the rain.
But often times, when my body wants to write my mind doesn’t have anything to say and so I sit curled up in my chair staring out my window,
watching the time slip away from me.
Or I sit with my laptop on my lap
and watch the blank screen glare at me,
I’ve read hundreds of stories and millions of words in my lifetime.
I’ve lived in other countries, times, universes.
I’ve been young and old,
male and female,
canine and demigod.
I’ve had the ability to fly, read minds, cast spells and speak to animals.
I have been a villain and a hero, a loser and a victor.
I have travelled through the visions of hundreds of creative minds, and lived the lives they have crafted,
but when I turn the final page,
I always end up right back where I started,
sitting in my room.
Though I have travelled to magical and horrible places,
lived all of those lives for a brief period of time,
I can never truly be anyone else for more than a moment.
I am just a boy,
sitting alone in his room.
I have no special powers
or great adventures to share.
I get up before the sun each morning
and drag myself off to school
with all of the other semi-sleeping zombies that live in my town
and after school I drag myself home in a daze
and retreat back to my room to sit amongst a sea of papers,
I hold a pencil in my hand,
Desperate to create a world of my own
where I can escape
and live any life I can imagine.
Desperate to find my own magic power in ink
so that in between classes,
I can write myself into another universe
and live within the pages I have created for myself.
In my universe I can be anyone, live anywhere, do anything.
So as I sit by my window with my laptop on my knees,
I squeeze my eyes shut and allow the millions of words I’ve absorbed to swirl around me.
I am searching for my story.
Somewhere in the massive library of souls, my own is waiting.
One day, when I open my eyes, I’ll have found it.
One day, when I open my eyes, I’ll be transported into the world I created for myself.
One day, when I open my eyes, I’ll be gone.”