I'm not interested in reality
I'm only interested in the make believe
Stories are what I thrive on
Stories everywhere
Fiction runs in my blood
It even invades my dreams
This however is what I expect
Without stories, without creativity
Without artistic expression, without imagination
Life would be meaningless
So I close my eyes
And suddenly I am being fed grapes in Italy
Seated at a large wooden table
Alongside a rural family in the countryside
Or discussing fine cuisine with Hemingway
Watching people walk by at a French cafe
Even walking on the stars
Whenever I want to experience
The wonders of the world
I just simply close my eyes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem