Everyone tries to label what they believe in. Their ideology, its in the books. Everyone reads the book of life but not everyone contributes. Oh how wonderful to read a book without reading it:. A lazy afternoon, hazy remembering of a long dead story. In bits of jealousy I envy those people. The readers. They enjoy for the sake of enjoying. These words, those books, are my own reading my own written story. I just want to put the book down and read. Here I am, sitting in a spot that's comforting. I'm tired, I'm cold. I'm imagining you reading this, the ever present reader I'm so wary of. I'm imagining you as I sit back with a sigh after writing this. Thinking back to my past when I thought I could write to you better. I'm sorry reader, sorry that I'm not a good author. I'm sorry that I ever thought I could be. I'm sorry I feel jealous of you. I'm sorry I had to write this. But more than anything else? I'm sorry I didn't read.