I believe that I am trapped in the thoughts of a writer with no say or way out, I’m terrified that at the end of the last chapter I will no longer exist. I can only hope that the author has a strong vocabulary and a bigger imagination to let me have a happy ending. This is my sentence, where I live life on the pages of white. The author writes words without risk as I am forced to walk his narrative day in and day out, but I forgive the author. I’m not sure if my story is being revealed to him or even if he has the final say. I can only hope that maybe, just maybe the author will let me know my fate. Am I fiction or non-fiction, I just don’t know.
“Which of us has not felt that the character we are reading in the printed page is more real than the person standing beside us?”
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“I don’t have a bucket list, but my shit list is a mile long thought ….God help me! I use to have a religious habit then I became conflicted, confused and couldn’t stop lusting for the church lady playing the piano, besides I don’t like velvet paintings of the Pope. So, let me ask you this question because damn it if money is the root of all evil, why do they ask for it at church and If we were made in the image of God why aren’t we invisible ? “