If my life was a book
What if my life was really a book
Everything I think I’m doing is really just the
Words someone else is writing down
On a page?
What if the things I believe to be real
Including myself are not
Real beyond the page.
If I’m just a figment of someone’s imagination?
How would that change my view on things?
I’d see it all as part of the adventure, the story
As it unfolds.
Every hardship and tear
A beautiful, hauntingly sad part of
A story with a lesson
A reason for existence.
I mean the best books are ones where
I love it when someone goes through
An incredibly emotional and difficult time
Only to have it all work out some way in the end.
Maybe I could take it all less seriously
If I was just a character on a page.
My pain and struggles
Merely a way to move the plot along
For the entertainment of the reader.
What would it be if I was
Really just a reason for a book?
An interesting thought – if my life was a book. You see as much as I am a writer, I am also a voracious reader. I love books, have since I was young. One of my favorite places is the library, the quiet, the smell of the books, just being surrounded by so many words – love it! I recently had a thought after finishing a book for my book club, what if my life was just a story in someone’s book, that everything happening was inside someones imagination? That’s where this poem came from.
What would your life look like as a book?