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Surfing Beneath the Waves.
I want to live in a city that’s built like a library.
I don’t want streets or offices.
I don’t want crowds or wildlife.
I want never-ending towers of books.
I want worn leather furniture and warm lights.
I want to be alone with the millions and millions of characters in the books.
I want to go on a long and perilous journey with strangers, only to have them become friends.
I want to fall in love with an icy warrior who slowly reveals she has a soft side.
I want to die in combat, fighting for something I believe in.
I want to find the missing clue, slay the dragon, save the world.
I want to have a destiny.
I’m not smart enough to choose a path, I’m not ambitious enough to write my own legend.
I don’t want to be a writer anymore.
I want to be the character.
Characters in books have it made.
They all have flaws and demons and destinies.
They all have purposes and dreams and before all is said and done, they find some closure.
They’re on a set path with turns and conflicts, enemies and lovers, and a climax.
Real life doesn’t work that way.
There are no “paths” to take.
You live and die in the middle of nowhere.
Some people follow their shadows, or the shadows of others in pursuit of purpose.
Some fools convince themselves that they were put there to fulfill a prophecy or spread a message.
And others, well, others just die.
I don’t want to be lost in the nothing anymore.
I don’t want to want, and frankly I already don’t want to need.
I have no ambition, no drive, no direction.
Real life is so awful.
The characters are incredibly predictable, the storylines drag on forever, and nothing is ever resolved.
Child after child dies for a meaningless war.
Dreams come and go, nightmares fade into the night.
The highs and lows of everyday life become tedious and meaningless that tomorrow means about as much as yesterday and I’m already forgetting about today.
I just want to live in a fictional world.
With rules and destinies and endings.
I want resolution and absolution instead of emotional destitution and a world void of spiritual evolution.
Fiction sounds so wonderful.
I worry that I’m the only one who feels that way.
That’s the beautiful thing about fiction, it is whatever you want it to be.
I’m sick of anticipating the highs and dreading the lows.
Someone once told me to be like the ocean.
Because regardless of how violent the surface becomes, just a few feet below, it’s always peaceful.
Well, I never seem to see the surface.
I always seem to dwell far below.
Where it’s cold and dark and dead.
And it’s dreadfully boring surfing beneath the waves.