Reading Myself into other Worlds

Every time I open a book and my eyes lay upon the arithmetic lines of black words, I get drawn into another time, place, and world. I watch my surroundings changing, fading, and drifting away from me. I am there, in the book living a life with the characters. Feeling there pain and joy when they do, crying and laughing with them.

I am never drawn into the body of any one character I’m just added into the story as my own character, living, being, learning alongside the other souls placed into the book, our story intertwining with each other.

I like to call books doors to other worlds. And when I close that door to a world, time freezes in it, jolting me back to that place I was left when I opened the “door”, teasing me that I couldn’t stay there longer. I go back and visit old books that I have previously read and hold them in my hands maybe read a line or two to remind myself of the great events and adventures that took place.

Books are doors, doors to other worlds.

Posted in: Writings