Queen of the Wolves

King of the Birds

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And it comes down to this. This moment where you feel truly and utterly engaged in emptiness. Insomnia kicks in. This is that moment when you realize that things won't turn out the way you want them to. Things will just get worse and better, but never exactly what you expected.
Frankly, I'd rather live in my head. Up there it's peaceful, it's exactly how I want everything to go.
To look. To feel. You're imagination can play a number on your reality.
It'll always just be a dream.
A lump in the throat and butterflies in the stomach.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
I love books for this reason. I can imagine anything that isn't what I would imagine. I get out of my imagination to pursue another's imagination through print and paper. I can step in their life and forget about mine for chapters and pages and sentences.
I can feel something I haven't.
Isn't this what we want out of life anyways? To be in someone else's story? To be apart of someone else's history?
Well you take up my emotions in this entire book. The readers will imagine you as some suave, Bruce Campbell-like character with the best words, the best paragraphs, the best chapters. They'll imagine you as someone they love too. They'll never forget you as I won't. They'll think the world of you and remember just as I have. They'll see you through my eyes, my emotions, my imagination.
You'll be apart of their histories too.
You'll live on long past your death.
Just as you'll live in me - forever.


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