When I Read a Book

When I read a book
I feel the words rushing through my veins.
Every syllable, every sound,
is music to my mind.
Parts of the plot
Weave around each other
as melodies intertwined.
Each character becomes
a piece of me:
my hopes, my dreams,
achievements,
prides and flaws,
And I become
every character—
their goal tugs at my every thought, 
Flinging emotions uselessly
at the hurdles I encounter,
the actions I make,
a puppet held captive by
the pen of an author. 

When the book ends, 
I'm left in the world within its pages,
Trapped between the last page
and the cover,
trying in vain 
To push the cover open again,
to see the next part of my story.
Yet the pen has stopped,
the words have ceased,
my story is lost to the wind,
my final line of dialogue
still ringing on my lips. 

I set the book down,
stand up,
and stretch.
I wonder how long the ink would last
if my character said all they wanted to say.
The silence reverberates around my mind
as I turn to walk away.