The Girl who reads.
That’s another name for me.
 
The one who is kept content
By reading fictional lives.
 
From Harry Potter to Cather in the Rye,
I read.
At the parking lot. At home.
Under a tree, or in the library.
You’d find me,
The one who reads.
 
Call me a bookworm,
Since I am.
Infinite words captured in my mind
Caught in the neurons,
Waiting to be known and learnt.
 
I read within reason:
To dream. To imagine. To hope.
 
I read for the emotion I won’t get in reality no matter how much I plead.
 
Reading builds up tension
And the urge to finish.
Not aware what’s on the other side of a page
Can **** someone within.
 
To be engrossed in a book,
Shutting the world outside,
Hearing nothing but words,
While patience is on the edge
Waiting to fly.
 
The despair that fills you
When you realized a character died.
The one you loved, the one that was fun-
The one you wished existed.
 
Or maybe the romance,
As you realize who your perfect one is,
Your “meant-to-be”,
Doesn’t exist either.
Never will.
 
You cry, you scream,
You sigh, you dream.
 
When a book is not found,
You are in a Trans, a pensive mood.
A profusion of questions bundled in  your head-
Who? What? Where? How? Why?
And all you can think about for the rest of day,
Is going back to bury your nose in a book,
To find the secrets it refuses to tell you.
To find the treasure between the lines.
 
Call me a book freak,
I won’t deny it.
I’d be complimented, actually.
I can’t help these numerous words
That keep spilling out.
 
But I know I’m not the only one.
Heck, I know I'm not crazy.
 
I'm not the only one that sees
The irony of life,
Innumerable paths,
The alternative
And countless paths.
 
Reading helps you learn this, not only academics, not matter what people say.
 
Reading, to some, is to live.
Reading, to some, is to learn.
Reading, to some, is Cloud 9 when things get really bad.
 
To me, it’s my everything.