While trying to sleep that night the feeling of regret grew. It pored over me like a warm bath. It was almost chocking. I had done the right thing. I burned a book that caused me to alter my perspective. But why then? Why was I so confused and filled with an anxiety that was palpable. This book I just burned was not just a book I dare say it wasn’t event that. It was an experience. Something that I cut short. I was supposed to experience this book and I had never felt that before. Terrified and alone I lay there thinking through what I had read and began trying to piece things together, but due to my non creative mind it fell short. I just kept thinking what did it look like, how did it feel, why did the author put it there? These question went on till morning where I forced myself to stop. I needed to get a hold of my reality. I began resisting our mantra to calm me.