I lived a life of pretending.
I pretended I didn’t care about life, about books.
The truth is: we live in an unintelligent world.
We are slowly becoming attached to couches,
and bonding with our talking walls, not our families.
When my husband, a book burner, finally stood up,
I didn’t support him.
I was responsible for his social death.
In return, the bombs meant for him, killed me instead.
I lived a life I didn’t want to live.
My life was one full of regrets.
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