In hustle and struggles of daily lives, running back and forth to the places, like revisiting memories- both exhausting and beautiful, I sit back on my bed pulling the warm blanket on when it gets cold at night, Or sometimes I walk around, staring at the lonely roads with street lights lighting them up and shadows of the trees on the ground making the silence look pleasing, yet uneasy.
I toss and turn in my bed, eyes failing to catch hold of sleep. I reach out to get hold of something I love. I sit back, all curled up, my fingers running through, trying to find the mark I last stopped at. Its yellowness lights up my eyes, frees me from the easiness and take me to some other world made from fascinating characters and background. I dive into that world and come out of it when I reach the last page. Some stories surely leave a part of themselves with you. Some books really touch you the way no one can.
Leave a Reply