I'm an escapist. To this, I fully admit. I always have been. To the point that at times, the real world simply loses its grip on me and I'm in danger of floating away on a dream.
Sometimes it's served me well, keeping me innocent and smiling in the heart of a very ugly situation. Sometimes it's done me wrong by allowing the bad things in while I am sound asleep and deep in dreams.
Tragedy has taught me to temper my escape with long dream droughts in which force myself to stay present in difficult times, stressful times, or simply just boring times. But every now and then, I still run far away into a book or a dream. Just me and the world I'm imagining and I savor these times all the more for their scarcity.
Today it's Edgar Allen Poe who's calling me away from my hilltop home and across the sands of time to a kingdom by the sea.
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