Have you ever gotten lost in the deep abyss of a book? Have you ever wanted so badly to explore every unknown crevice of a story, feeling the palm of your hand accidentally stroke the spine of the book as you flip from page to page with your thumb? Or smelling the fresh smell of paper when you open a new book, or peel open the yellowed pages of an old one? It’s blissful.
For me, craving for a book to read is like another person’s cravings for a certain type of food. It is nice to see how some books have grown old with time, because it has told its story to so many others. It is nice to see how there are lines that form on the spine of a book as a result of stretching it open too many times; it shows that many people have been moved by the same story I have.
One of the best feelings ever is getting to know a person’s untold story, to fall in love with fictional characters of a compelling book, to laugh, to cry, to mourn and to celebrate with the writer on the gains or losses that occur throughout a story. It is an amazing feeling to be entranced for hours, even days on end, fixated on the tiny words that are strung together to tell a story.
It is also an astounding feeling to share these emotions and sentiments with people who understand, because very few people do. Very few people read, very few people even bother picking up a book.
I may not be a storywriter, but one day, I want to move people the way other people have moved me.