Rooms in Houses

There are rooms in houses where I'd like to hide, immersed in books and words and scenes painted with thoughts. The walls are white, but the colors are rich and plentiful. I'd lay on my back atop the covers, grasping onto a thick novel, my eyes scanning the text while my mind lives in the story. Wherever this takes me, wherever I end up, I want to stay there forever. I want to stay hidden in those rooms, on top of those covers, in that fantasy. The stench of reality is too strong for my senses; I'll refuse it if you ask. 

But I will crack the door, so I can hear you calling from the hall. I am already down the rabbit hole, or crawling into the wall exploring the next dimension, but at least I'll hear you call...