I used to read books as a way of escapism from a life far from fulfilling. Now I accomplish many, with those who love me, and learning to love those who were always there. But I still read, it's a habit hard to break as well as one I do not with to be forced to break. For, in case, one day, when all is bad for me again, I have a world to escape to. A place where I can be me, with nothing else but my own solitude.

I fear that day where I can no longer read. The time where reality crashed so heavily on me it doesn't leave me space time breathe, lest indulge in this little habit of mine. Where u can no longer feel freedom, held tight on a leash to act like a robot who simply exists to please others. I am, therefore, addicted to reading. Not the mundane repeated facts, but the stories to be told. Those from the great minds I envy, with the power u crave. To create the enchanting places, luring characters, nonexistential love.

I apologise for my abysmal vocabulary.

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