The Girl with the books

"It's not about the happy ending, it's all about the story"

That's what she answered when she was asked why she kept reading the same books, over and over again, sometimes, she would be found with a new book, then she would read that one again and again, intil the sides were worn out and the covers was tired. She would bury herself into the story, she would live alongside the character as she read, mesmerised by their life and their story, by the things she read, and by the things she learned. 

No one really knew her, not the real her. They knew that she read, and that she was quiet, but they never saw her true self, they never bothered to go close enough to get to know the girl with the books. They never saw the brilliant young woman, who had lived so many lives through the books she read, she had lived more lives than any other person in their small town, in the country, in the world. She would cry with the characters, laugh with them, live with them. And she was a true genius, she lived a thousand lives, and she learned something new from every book she opened. Burried into the pages of the written world, she would have a small smile on her beautiful lips and she would let out a small laugh as her eyes twinkled with happiness from the adventures she found. 

To the people around her, she was a nerd, they told her so, trying to bring the amazing girl they didn't really knew to her knees. But she wouldn't break, or at least, she didn't show them she did, knowing that she was wiser than them, knowing she knew the world around her better than they did, she knew that she was able to love more they did, and she told them that.

"Nerds like me are allowed to be unironically enthusiastic about stuff. Nerds are allowed to love stuff, like jump-up-and-down-in-your-chair-can't-controll-yourself love it. When people call me nerd, mostly what they say is, "You love stuff" which isn't a good insult at all. Like, "you are to enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness"

That's what she would tell them, and they would leave, confused by her words, and troubled, because they could never be sure if she defended herself or insulted them back, becuse they were never clever enough to figure out what her words truly meant. 

It seemed like this interesting girl had built a world of magic around herself, as if the real life around her was to tragic and boring for her attention. No one could get through to her as she left to far away places, without ever leaving the security of the little town she had grown up in. 

Sometimes she would be seen readin a childrens book, she would smile into the pages and the pictures she knew so well from her childhood, but she would never tell why she smiled as she read, as if it was some secret that she wouldn't share with anyone, and the only way to find out, was reading yourself.

And that's what I was planning to do. I sat beside her, silently as to not disturb her, and I got to know her better, not by talking to her, but by reading the books she read, by listening to her music. This girl read more than she loved. Her favorite song told me more about her than she ever did. Half of the days, she would ignore me, and we would sit in silence, I watching her as she read. The other half I would be making stupid jokes, and the little shy smile on her face would make my week. I wanted to understand her, I wanted to read every book she'd ever read and understand how her world could be less impotant to her than those she dived into every day. 

"I'll tell you why" she said one day, closing her book and carefully putting it down on the table in front of us. I sent her a confused look, as I hand't said anything, none of us ever had.

"I know you wonder why I read so much, why I ignore the world and the people around me. It's because I've been misplaced. You see, I don't belong in this world, in this year. I look around and I see the people around me, they're skinny, confident, beautiful. They're doing sports, they've got loads of friends, they have clothes they feel comfortable in, they're outgoing and funny, they seems nice, don't get me wrong, but I feel like I don't belong, that they'll judge me because I'm different. Because I'd rather go to Hogwarts than ordinart school, I'd rather be a Divergent with Tobias and Tris than go out with people I don't really like, I'd rather go to Narnia with the Pevensies than to deal with my real problems. I'd love to stand by Hazel Grace Lancaster's side in Augustus' funeral, I'd give anything to go on a travel with The Doctor, solve a crime with Sherlock and John or hunt demons with Sam and Dean. I'd rather go to Camp Half-Blood than go on boring family vacations, I want to read myself into Inkheart and live alongside Maggie, I'd even pay to get a chance to be a part of the Hunger Games. I'd take any of this over the life I have now, because the people in the books and series seem more like me than any real person I know. That's why I read, because the characters aren't just something I see in front of me, they're the parts of me that I can't show to anyone, because then I'll be different, I won't be like the others, and I'll be judged. Who knew that someome could feel like characters in books and series are better than the real friends and family I know. That's why I read, and that's why I'm shy, because I don't belong her, I was misplaced"