Sometimes I wish if someone could just walk and ask me about the books I wish to read, the wisdom I long to gulp. I hope that there will be a day when I would wake up to my favorite books and smell the words and hug the colors they would offer. Nothing tempts me more than the paperbacks and hardcovers with yellow pages printed in black. I reside where the books are! And simultaneously reside inside the books I read. And therefore, it is not just one life that I live, it is the life of the books that I read and live. Sometimes I wonder about how crazily one can fall in love with so many lives and cherish them altogether.
Books are so much better than humans, making you cry but making you better with each silently moving tear. Hurting you but eventually loving you too, unlike humans.
I am the words I read, the books I love and the silence I breathe.
People call books, a fantastical world, aloof from the reality it is the best bitter picture of the reality.
I didn’t experience much and yet I experienced so much at the same time, joining them from star to star and making a constellation.
I lost myself when people had left, feel dejected umpteen times but words etched in the books always paved the way towards harmony after each page I read. I was not born reading but I definitely intend to die while reading. A reader in solace.
And if ever you fail to find me, search at the places where the books are, search in the places where meaningful words lie, in between the curves of the words and the spaces that connect them and you would find me in a position, better for everyone.