Friday, May 20, 2011

Bookish Sort Explorer (Book Addict)

For my reader confessions, I have an incurable obsession with books that furnish my room as well as my entire life. I read everything; huge volumes, daily news, manuals, posters, paintings, medical prescriptions and packages of confectionary.

Whenever I am reading, I don’t get hungry. When I hear a call, I get angry and I don’t pick because I prefer not to respond. I don’t like to stir once I have opened a page. I also find it easier to bury my insomnia and sometimes stress in heaps of ink and paper or word processor. I like reading because then I can easily swim through oceans of knowing towards the shores of reality that seem less to be real with my usual (idealist mind in instances when I am not reading). And in no minute I can make it to all continents and understand their oceanic boundaries.

I sometimes feel terribly sorry for the fact that I owe a lot to writers but I devotedly omit that fact, because they write for themselves and their loyal readers; besides they are cunning enough to take all my love and my penny too! I digest most of the writings from love. The textures, colors and smell of books old or new have become familiar to me as my own perfume nearly to the air I breathe. 

The book is the sole specimen I have ever tried to resemble millions of beliefs and disagreements that may tend to overpower my consciousness and above all creating in me an instinct to generously correct the opinions of other minds wholeheartedly by liking them first and leave their facts intact. I find it liberating to take a daily word sacrament and being a literary glutton as well as an honest (ADHD) word worm a little too much is better for my hours. Books are my life. How else could I be?

(c) Atutambira Allen

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