Fiction

I have the ink
It cascades with my blood and tears alike
It paints my lips and eyes
It creates me

I have the paper
It folds in the wind
But keeps me safe
As it’s intended to do

I have the covers
They caress my skin
But they lock me away
A bittersweet symbiosis

I have a world at my fingertips
An infinity of creation
Twenty six letters to give me anything I could ever imagine
Within the pages of the book

But the one thing I can’t have
Is you

Because I’m just someone’s imagination
And you
You’re real