He wanders ‘mongst pages that exist yet do not
Passing through gates and windows left half open
Of stories another has wrought
This other self of mine who is never seen nor felt
Finds life in a place of my mind
To flitter into stories, revel in their glories
And discovers what there is to find
He transcends the scene as I transcend him in turn
For he is greater, yet less to the eye
If canon should fire, or my interest should tire
It is certain that he would soon die
Yet another “him” appears among pages later read
As he takes yet another role
And I can’t help but envy the new stories he’d send me
As he takes another story for a stroll
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