Writing Fiction

I live in the stories.
The ones I build around myself,
Telling me, someday
My world will be right again.
I construct each story
Piece by piece
With silver linings and golden dreams,
Trimmed with sky blue hope.
Each story is interlocking-
Entwined with each of the others.
A card castle waiting to fall
With a slammed door
Or a raised voice.
And they do fall,
Over and over.
And I rebuild-
With greater skill each time.
Making each new piece of architecture
More difficult to part with
Than the last.