I used to read so much, people thought I was a bore,
Over the years, their words became true and reading became a chore.
The sacred feel of reading I don’t recall,
I lost my one true love and now there’s nothing to break my fall.
Bags under my eyes would mean a late night date with a paperback,
The old me might never return, even if life cuts me some slack.
“I am a voracious reader” used to be my favourite line,
A sad, stable career over the love of my life seems like a pretty hefty fine.
CRYING, BAWLING, LAUGHING, LOVING, HATING,
There was always a pure emotion waiting.
Life struck as unexpectedly as a fable,
And now even crying requires a time table.
Those stolen glances at the pages while your mom called you down for food,
Reading was never an activity based off of mood!
A book and a bookworm - a bond as close as old monk and ***,
Why then, have we grown farther apart than the moon and the sun?
This poem is for all those people who preferred to stay indoors with the windows open, the fairy lights on, a cup of tea in one hand and a splendid story in another. It is for all the people who had to let go of their reading streak for whatever reason. It is for all those who used to read as though their very existence depends on it, but now, for the life of them, simply can't pick up a book.
I hope the heartbroken reader's club gives you peace and may we one day, share the same old relationship we had with those sweet-smelling cream-coloured bundles of warm hugs and miraculous journeys.
