I miss reading.
Not the kind of reading where you skim over your Twitter feed or the kind where you submerge your novel in a plethora of sticky notes because your grade depends on it.
I miss the kind of reading that nullifies your world until there is just you and the book.
The turn of each crisp page, the weight of the book in your lap, your shoulders and eyes begging for a rest- all these things seem irrelevant. Because it’s the stories I miss. It’s the people.
Reading gave me the freedom to explore not just countries but universes. It made me feel eager to pack my suitcase and escape to these worlds yet, just the mere act of reading made me feel like I was co-existing with these characters and that was plenty for me.
I miss the quiet that followed the conclusion of each book. Where I was left alone to ponder. What are these characters doing now? I’d wonder. I’d sit there in awe of all the feelings that a book is able to imprint upon you. How do words have so much power? they’re just lines on paper after all.
What I miss the most is the stillness that came with reading. In a world full of chaos, I had something that let me feel at peace and it made me feel alive.
I miss reading.
Infinity Reads 