whenever i get engrossed in a book, my emotions get intertwined with those of the characters. for the time that im reading the book, the story becomes my reality.
these few days, i walk down the hallway and in my head i pretend to have a gun in hand, easing along the walls to remain inconspicuous, half expecting people to jump out from the rooms or the windows or from around the corner. every turn of the door handle is made possible because of some secret code that i have, or a special device that helps me unlock doors. carrying my pots and bowls to the kitchen is a delicate act of balance that requires the agility of a spy. each phone call i make is to my handler, or my partner, providing them with updates on my mission. i wonder if people will climb in through my window when i sleep at night.
no more alias after this disc.
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and so the thing that hurts the most is that they see each other but cant look at each other, they love each other but they are apart.
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