I wish my body was a library, protecting my organs as if they were novels, maps, encyclopedias and scripts. A library in where my biological machinery give rise to a wondrous tale.
I wish the blood that courses through me is made of words, traveling within my veins like sentences stringing together to create a story.
I wish the oxygen I inhale is a group of letters, and as they pass through my trachea and into my lungs chapters begin to form.
I wish the carbon dioxide I exhale becomes vivid plots, characters and metaphors readers can love.
I wish the random yawns and breaths I take add punctuation and finesse to my story.
I wish I was literature; something you are unable to put down and when I end, you wonder if a part of you has forever left.
I wish the blood that courses through me is made of words, traveling within my veins like sentences stringing together to create a story.
I wish the oxygen I inhale is a group of letters, and as they pass through my trachea and into my lungs chapters begin to form.
I wish the carbon dioxide I exhale becomes vivid plots, characters and metaphors readers can love.
I wish the random yawns and breaths I take add punctuation and finesse to my story.
I wish I was literature; something you are unable to put down and when I end, you wonder if a part of you has forever left.
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| Rereading the Harry Potter series for the gazillionth time sparked something inside of me I thought I had lost. There are some books that take you beyond your imagination and bring you back to what you love the most. This picture and Harry Potter are the inspiration to this piece. |
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