Emily is the main character of a novel I'm reading. This series of poems (written by her) will head the first page of each new chapter.
When my life began, the world was shapeless and without meaning. I had very little care for anything that existed past what I could grab or bite.
Later on, things began to mean and I tried to care about as few as I could. Those around me became more than just shapes, they were really people that forced me to continue defining each thing that came into sensation. I hated them for making things real.
There was a point where the unreality was almost gone. Uncertainty existed only in the darkness of night and the rare recesses of human action. I was devastated, and stayed in my room, trying desperately to recapture that chaos in my dreams. But even my dreams clung to reality like a wet shirt.