“Why do you love reading?”
I’ve been asked this question a lot, and I always avoid answering it.
Some questions are better left unanswered.
Because, not everyone can feel and understand things as deeply as a reader can.
I read to find escape. I read to live life differently. I read to understand and to feel understood. I read to know. I read to learn.
I read to assure myself that I’m not alone. I read to travel. I read to find answers, and I read to question myself.
When I read, I feel like the story’s mine, like I’m living what’s written; and the writer of the story is someone I know.
When I read, I start a new life, a new journey; and when the story ends, another journey begins.
When I read, I make memories.
When I read, I smell new beginnings.
When I read, I cry, I laugh, I get angry, I get annoyed.
When I read, I feel the joy, I feel the pain, I feel the pleasure.
I read to understand love, envy, anticipation, shame, grief, ecstasy, jealousy, disgust, surprise, lust, betrayal, trust.
I read to solve the mystery, and to read in between the lines.
When I read, I read myself and, I read you.
So don’t deny when I say that;
I understand you.
I can see through the facade you create.
I know your motives.
I can read your eyes.
Your smile is fake.
Your emotions are caged.
You muffle your shouts deep inside.
You fight your superficiality.
You fight your shallowness.
You fight yourself in order to find yourself.
You act strong.
Your concern is fake.
Don’t you dare deny it.
I can tell because I read.
I am a reader.
I read books.
I read you.