Utopia

A slither of light creeps in through my barely open eyelids. The bitter feeling of slight consciousness takes hold of my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt at regaining perfect harmony with the stillness that was mine for a good many hours previously. Futile.

Begrudgingly I open both eyes, squinting at the harsh brightness of reality and stretch out an arm, fumbling about beneath the covers for my book. It must be somewhere – I fell asleep with it in my hands. In a slight panic, I twist my head round to see if I can spot it and luckily, there it lies on the pillow next to my head. With relief, calm washes over me once more and I curl into a ball with an open book in my hands and a mass of cotton sheets entwining me in a protective embrace.

Escaping actuality even in my waking hours, I slip in between the lines and take on a different personality. In this world, I am free to change form and morph into someone or something better. Objectivity no longer exists and rigidity is but a distant memory. Carefully crafted words dance about my being and slither down my throat, pulling me into their realm with a maternal concern.

It is only here that I can become a simple form or a complex idea, depending on my will. This is the only way I can flee the stark fibre of all that I am and, for a dancing moment, find my utopia.