Lost in the Pages

I used to think of addiction

As only abuse

Only about substances

The pill popping, snorting powder, puffing smoke,

Shooting liquid energy into your veins for a high.

Then about weird things.

Glue, paint, dog food,

The pack rat tendency to keep

Anything and everything,

Or maybe

That guy from college

Whom you spoke to once

Waved to twice

And now, you see him everywhere

From the bushes, at the back of the class

Through your binoculars.

But I have been addicted

For as long as I can remember.

I would once wake up

Before the sun would streak the skies

In oranges, pinks, and purples

To turn on the TV and

Watch

As pictures of princesses, knights,

Dragons and villains would

Play across the screen.

I would play them over and over,

Memorizing each detail,

Each part of the dialogue, and each

Magical moment between a

Boy and a girl

In the first stages of

Love.

When I began to read,

I picked the storybooks.

My favorites were of

Wallflowers getting noticed

For the first time,

Werewolves, vampires,

Anything with a romantic theme,

I wanted.

I drank up every word,

Digested every morsel of text

Like it was the fruit of the Gods,

My ambrosia.

I fell more and more in love,

Deeper an deeper into the abyss

Of other worlds

With each new page, each new book.

I wasn't just watching it play out

In my own wonderland.

I was experiencing it

With each character

The giddiness, the heartbreak, the happiness.

Somehow the main character

Was relatable to me

And the love interest was practically perfect

A sizzling combo of adorable, funny,

Compassionate, strong, protective,

And all parts hotness.

In that world,

An ordinary girl could stand out.

An ordinary girl could turn

The perfect guy's head at the right

Time wouldn't heal all wounds

He would cherish her

Like a sunny day in Seattle,

The rarest flower.

And when they would fight,

Frustration would turn into passionate kisses,

Jealousy would turn into declarations of love,

And if she were to flee,

He would run after her,

Telling her that he would

Never leave...

And love conquers all.

But dear women of the world,

These aren't real.

It's called fiction for a reason.

No guy is perfect.

But I don't want perfection, if perfect is

A carbon copy, stamped across a crisp, white sheet,

I want flesh and bone.

Perfection's face is blurry,

I want to learn 

The crinkle of a smile and the color of his eyes.

Perfection won't age with you.

He won't change with you.

He leaves you after a one night stand,

His memory sketched across your brain,

Ink smeared under your eyes

In dark circles.

Perfection will ruin you for another guy.

Perfection is a player,

Owning the hearts of more women than you can count.

Perfection is a taker of love,

Not a giver.

I no longer want perfection.

But I'll admit,

I'm still addicted to the books with

Love stories to envy

And brave knights and happy endings

But those are just stories.

I want reality.