Many people have often
asked me why I read and
it is because of the feeling;
this feeling.
This feeling of being lost
in a world that doesn’t
exist the same for two people,
This feeling of loving
characters that you’ve only
read about so deeply that it
can move you to tears, it’s
the feeling of empathy.
It is this feeling that makes
me pick up a new book
and spend countless hours
deriving its meaning, it is
this feeling that has influenced
every decision I’ve made, every
feeling I’ve felt, every poem
I have ever written.
It is this feeling that forms
the core of my soul, of
my personality, and this
is why I read.
I don’t read for its many boons,
but instead I read because
I am selfish. I am hungry
for the tales of a world, of
a country, of a mere village.
I am hungry to read about
countless lives, because
somewhere in the midst of
all these pages, lies my heart;
no matter how lost I may be,
these words, these novels,
these stories are where I
find myself. So yes, I
read because I like it, but
no simple sentence could
truly explain what a gift words
have been to my soul, to my
life, to me.


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