Blooming And Wilted Thoughts

I came, I read, I lived.

Reading is more than just skimming over words on paper.
A book is more than a chunk of inked sheets.

Reading is traveling, living.
A book is a gateway to somewhere near or far away.

In many instances, life has been tough, life has been stressful.
What did I do when that happened? Without even, at first, realising that was what I was doing?
I jumped head-first into a book.

My bookshelves aren't just shelves where chunks of written-on paper stand and stack up.
They're a box of gateways to many many different worlds and many many different times.
They're like Yggdrasil in a sense: the trunk that links different worlds together.

When I read, I don't just hear the story. I see it, like when you go to see a movie. I feel it in my bones. But most importantly, I live it alongside its characters. I journey with them, I grow and learn with them. I suffer with them. I win and lose at their side.
And when comes the time to close the book, I feel a bit lost. Like when you grow distant from someone you once were close with. It's the same feeling you feel when something shifted, ever so slightly, in your life, and you know nothing will ever be the same again. It's like feeling the shift from an era to another. Nothing may change in appearence but, deep down, you know it's not the same anymore, and it never will be.

So, if you see me staring off into space for a while, a closed book in my lap, just know that it's because a part of my life closed at the same time that book did.