I have been reading for a long time; I’ve been reading since I first discover the satisfactory sound of the pages when I tackled that ‘One more chapter”. Since I found out about the smell of the library books, and enjoying that musky ,spicy tickle of the spines while thinking that nobody saw me.
I’ve been reading since I first fell in love with that guy who is not a guy but a monster and he sparkles and he set the standard for any and ever boyfriend that I will ever have.
I read since I first found out about the pain of losing a child and knowing the daughter is the one at fault.
I read since I found out what is like to lose your parents to a hateful crime while you watch
or when I found out that there is magic in the world and unfortunately I’m not part of that world.
I read since I found out that reading increased my vocabulary for the SAT’s
I read since I heard my dad recited poems to me while we played on the floor at 13 for the first time.
I read since I found out that reading can make me forget about that boy who never texted, about that girl who was mean to me at lunch that day or about the job I didn’t get. I found out reading made it all go away.
Reading to me? it was an excuse for staying away.
An excuse for not calling you back in fear of rejection, for not going to that movie with you because you might not like me after, for not going for that run ,for getting away from God.
Reading to me? it was avoidance
Reading to me was a way to not acknowledge that those size 6 pants didn’t fit anymore. That this box of donuts wouldn’t damage me. because “one box a week is fine” but that other box of pizza was great too. It was me ignoring that F on that test. again.
I used to read for all the wrong reasons.
Not anymore. Now,I wonder why do I read?