What book could you read over and over again?
We carved the pages into our minds, entrapping memories so waxed it became impossible to dance around them.
The book activated the imagination while also serving as anxiety’s salve. Reality endeavored to hijack the movie in our heads.
We read to find ourselves, exiting the word of 2-D consciousness. Word-building tickled the brain.
Just as soon as we read to the end of the sentence, we gave voice to our own words. Our thoughts stuck to our pens and came out as prose.
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