I will always be a little girl discovering new hours of the night

with a book under the covers.

Ignoring my mom telling me not to read in the dark or else I’ll damage my eyes

(I wear glasses now)

I know I’m not much but

Part of me still believes I can find the secret to life.

If stories can annotate me by kissing paper cuts onto my fingers,

Maybe my blood will turn to ink.

It’d carry the fables in my arteries, and they’d go straight to my head,

So I never make the same mistakes.

I’m safe here.

Where good and bad is always a matter of black and white

If I keep my diary blank and my lies as subtle as winter sunlight,

Maybe my intentions will be enough to get me by.

The first thing I did was read the last page.

When I die, they will find me asleep with a book on my face.

The roof over my castle of dreams

I will have ventured beyond this world one

                                                                    last

                                                                         time.

Old enough to close the door all the way.

I promised myself that someday I will want to be real.

Someday I’ll grow up.

Just a few more chapters.