I just finished the book Enders Game, and Im sitting here having that post-great-book experience that only fiction-addicts can understand, where Im looking around my apartment, going that was so awesome, right guys?? And then remembering that the friends Ive been hanging out with for the last few hours and days arent here anymore. And my apartment feels quiet and empty, even though it only moments ago that my friends and I were fighting battles, forming lifelong bonds, outsmarting the enemy, and high-fiving. I miss my fictional friends. And in these moments of emptiness when I first realize they are gone, I also realize that most of my friends have not been real. Most of my life experience never actually happened. I never fought some of my most formative battles, and no one in the real world knows what great strengths I possess, having taken so many thousands of journeys to places they cant imagine. Nobody knows of the obstacles I have endlessly overcome in situations as endless and varied as there are facets of my self. Fiction has made me strong, wise, and courageous. It has let me act out through trial an error who I want to be, and taken me through challenges I could never have imagined, only to inevitably succeed like the hero it has taught me to be. I guess what Im saying is... I ❤ stories. And also I might be crazy.
Posted on: Tue, 22 Oct 2013 04:13:57 +0000
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