Your life is a story book.
And this chapter has ended. The page has been marked by some random piece of scrap paper, a receipt or maybe part of an old cigar wrapper, and you have set this book aside. You do not press forward diligently like a good reader; instead, you forget about it. It gets pushed around on the floor to the side of your bed for awhile before your laundry starts to pile up and eventually you can't see the book at all anymore through the tank tops, white v-necks and underwear. Weeks pass, and you do your laundry but you don't pick the book back up. You can barely remember where the last chapter ended. You have no idea where the story is going and it is of so little interest to you anymore that you go about your mundane tasks regularly and you forget that you were ever reading it in the first place. Then one day, you wake up and all you want to do is read, but you can't because you've got so little time to yourself anymore that reading is out of the question. You sneak a peak occasionally, but someone always interrupts with something and you put it back down like always. You pick it back up but of course you just keep rereading the same paragraph over and over each time and you don't know if you'll ever get past that damn paragraph and onto the rest of the goddamn story.
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