The world sees us and thinks us to be in a certain way. And so are we a mirror image of what the world wants us to be, or, do we believe us to be living our own life but actually are we making us think we are on our own?
The type of book doesn’t matter.
The genre of the book doesn’t matter.
The time of reading doesn’t matter.
As long as I curl up, alone, with a book in my hand, I feel complete.
It may seem a bit of exaggeration to some. But, for me, Books complete me.
The feel of the book in my hand,
The scratchy noise of the pages turning in the silent room,
The play of the words before my eyes, and
The play of the scene in my mind,
Getting transported to a parallel dimension
Where only me and my book exist.
Books are what I call, ‘My Solace’.
If I could keep on writing about my love for books, I could go on forever.That is when I realized that nothing could ever take the place of books in my life. Not a person, not a thing. The loving feeling that fills up my heart at the mention of books, you could think that I’m actually talking about a person! In fact, the passion that I get towards books feels like a personification of an actual person.
Books are what, that made me go through life, and
Books are what, I will live for.
People, who are so in love are the ones who experience more pain because, the one who loves more than the other, will be the one who gets hurt most of the times. And before anyone could say that both love in the same measure, I’m sure that its almost impossible for both to be in love with the same intensity.