Mar 2017
“Why do you like to read?”
They ask me, their unseeing eyes curious, undoubtedly dubious, unable to comprehend.
Well, you see…
I sigh, look each of them back in the eye, trying to compress and quantify all that I feel into a single reason without having to choke out a lie.
Well, um, you see…
It is quite a difficult question to answer.
To people like you, perhaps, it becomes an unfunny and sarcastic, maybe basic kind of joke
To me, I read to feel my heart bleed at the twisting melodies of poetry and prose.
And to say that I simply like it does not quite fit and is merely a cheap counterfeit of all that it has done for me.
It is not only the thrill, the way all the world is at a standstill when my eyes both hungrily ***** and gently caress whole symphonies on a page.
Sometimes they’re ballads or serenades, played in a wide array of conflicting emotions.
In a story, one is always a turn of a page away from a broken heart or halfway to being okay
The end of the world or a brand new start, the rare flare of hope or the stare of death.
Does all that do nothing for your mind, or do you kind of see but wish to stay blind?
People ask why I’m always with a ******* book; well, look,
Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of backstabbing friends and loneliness is more of a tendency.
And after all that, I no longer wish to blend or pretend to be someone I’m obviously not.
You might have always been lucky in the friend department and that’s grand for you,
But characters were my only ones for quite a time, back before I started writing all these vomited words with the same used-up rhymes.
And who in their right mind would choose false friends and be fine with a fragile line for a life?
I’d rather be alone, solitary but not all that lonely, because I’ll have a friend within the pages.
Are you starting to get me or have I just been babbling badly?
I think I’d live in a fantasy all day if I could, the silver and gold melody carrying me away
To places where even the broken, the outcasts, the fallen, and the downcast,
They can experience love.
They ask me, their unseeing eyes curious, undoubtedly dubious, unable to comprehend.
Well, you see…
I sigh, look each of them back in the eye, trying to compress and quantify all that I feel into a single reason without having to choke out a lie.
Well, um, you see…
It is quite a difficult question to answer.
To people like you, perhaps, it becomes an unfunny and sarcastic, maybe basic kind of joke
To me, I read to feel my heart bleed at the twisting melodies of poetry and prose.
And to say that I simply like it does not quite fit and is merely a cheap counterfeit of all that it has done for me.
It is not only the thrill, the way all the world is at a standstill when my eyes both hungrily ***** and gently caress whole symphonies on a page.
Sometimes they’re ballads or serenades, played in a wide array of conflicting emotions.
In a story, one is always a turn of a page away from a broken heart or halfway to being okay
The end of the world or a brand new start, the rare flare of hope or the stare of death.
Does all that do nothing for your mind, or do you kind of see but wish to stay blind?
People ask why I’m always with a ******* book; well, look,
Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of backstabbing friends and loneliness is more of a tendency.
And after all that, I no longer wish to blend or pretend to be someone I’m obviously not.
You might have always been lucky in the friend department and that’s grand for you,
But characters were my only ones for quite a time, back before I started writing all these vomited words with the same used-up rhymes.
And who in their right mind would choose false friends and be fine with a fragile line for a life?
I’d rather be alone, solitary but not all that lonely, because I’ll have a friend within the pages.
Are you starting to get me or have I just been babbling badly?
I think I’d live in a fantasy all day if I could, the silver and gold melody carrying me away
To places where even the broken, the outcasts, the fallen, and the downcast,
They can experience love.
