If I fell into my writing
The world would swirl around me 
And words would come together and build their meaning.
Deep oceans would open up and mountains would grow tall and brush the sky.
Rivers would rush toward the horizon.
Clouds would float lazily through the sky,
The background to a spectacular sunrise.
Creatures that no one has dreamed of would pop into existence.
The stars would twinkle brightly and anything you wished for would come true.
I would be immersed in a world of senses that no one else could ever find.
Everything would be so familiar
Like a stuffed animal that you loved and you discover it in a box in your attic.
I would smile and escape the burning world behind me.
The people in this world will stop living 
And start existing.
But when the history books are written, 
We will be remembered.
Because us writers?
We lived.
Oh, how we lived.