I used to read novels to experience vicarious adventures

Safely armchair bound

Giving myself an illusion of experience

Foreshadowing possibilities that are mostly unrealized

My shelves are lined with thrills and sagas

Of imaginary worlds and echoes of the past

Other people’s stories

Now, I am not bound between the covers

But carry my own pen

Open to the vicissitudes of my own adventures

Or quietly observing slices of the lives of others

I open pages when I open doors

I read wrinkles and laugh lines on those around me

Uncovering meanings from dropped hints

And the spaces between the words

Every day holds its own library for me

Volumes of content

On every subject ever found in rows of Dewey decimal precision

So I borrow my adventures from reality

Direct from the authors of the everyday



David Trudel  ©  2013



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