Two hundred and fifty seven pages later and all I feel is this meaningless buzz of a book radiating off my skin
At this point
I don't think there will be a happy ending but the tip of my tongue craves fantasy
How can I let it down?
How can the author promise me satisfaction
When I can feel a war coming?
Why do I long for light of this pain?
When deep down, I know there's no cliff
hanger
I've fallen in love with my kidnapper
Ana can't bring myself to run away
The cave I once hid from has open arms
Welcoming me home
And stupid impulsive me
Slips towards you
with a childish belief there could be something more
I'm warning you;
Lock the door
Turn off the lights
And don't open my book
